A World Divided
by MAI742
Summary: Evangelion on a technical shoestring amidst post-war tensions and Cold War intrigue.
1. New Edo

Disclaimer and Foreword:

I must recommend Archangel38's 'A Century Apart', found at .net/s/6102321/1/NGE_A_Century_Apart. It's a good read, and I owe the fellow the idea of 'Evangelion in the past'. Sadly, only his (her?) latest chapter approaches my standards of unnecessarily flowery language. It's a fair bit more action-packed than this series, though: expect a lot of sitting around and talking, _standing_ around and talking and (shock! awe!)_ sitting down_, _then standing up - _to talk, of course. I would like to think things pick up a bit after about chapter... oh, _seven_, but a lot of it's still just people hanging around and talking as of chapter ten. So! You have been warned.

Gainax owns Evangelion, in case anyone's been living in a foxhole in the Philippines since the war ended, occasionally shooting farmers and policemen that try to get them to surrender. (Oblique and overly, nigh-clumsily-direct) References to real people, living and dead, are almost certainly intentional.

Reviews are more than welcome, of course.

* * *

><p>It is a cloudy day in New Edo.<p>

The grey water laps weakly at the exposed rock of the former hillside. A light easterly breeze rustles the wild grass and scraggly bushes that are all that grow here. Once, you could observe the slums of Tokyo from these hills. And breathe in the smog, for that matter. Now you could go fishing here, if you wanted.

Not that you would catch anything.

Today the waters' edge bustles with activity. An American destroyer is moored a few hundred metres offshore, and more ships are visible on the horizon. One can just make out a cargo ship from the top of the hill here; it sticks to the deeper waters southeast of the city and is no doubt making its way to the city's artificial harbour. Another convoy of lorries rumbles down the coast road. They are towing guns – artillery. It's a curious sight. The trucks are a Japanese make; they bear the white-and-red flag of the rising sun, but the guns themselves are Soviet made. The self-propelled artillery pieces waiting for them by the shore are also Soviet models.

The trio of attack helicopters flying by them are American, and they are but one formation of many crowding the sky. The faint scream of jet engines is audible as the aeroplanes circle overhead.

The centrepiece of the action is a surprisingly human figure. 'Surprisingly' on account of its size. It is a hundred metres tall, perhaps. It crouches on one knee, hands planted firmly on – no, _into _– the ground, facing northeast and out to sea. The dim light of the morning sun gleams ever so faintly off the unpainted metal of its gauntlets, its helmet, and myriad other pieces of armour. It looks like something from the times of Nobunaga or Cao Cao. A cable trails from its spine to the strange vehicle which occupies the pair of railway tracks behind it. A train-spotter, anorak or no, might notice that the gauge of the rails is wider than one would expect in Japan. The design bureau or the construction team could tell you that building the damn thing was more than just a simple question of packing earth and laying tracks, though that was part of it.

A pair of trains screeches to a halt behind the twin-engine curiosity which sits at the end of the tracks. Their cargoes look very queer indeed, but their purpose becomes clear when the figure stands up, walks over to them, and picks them up. Once seen in the hands of the humanoid figure, they take on the form of a rifle, a pistol, ammunition, and magazines. The figure loads the pistol and clips it into a slot on the front of its carapace. It checks the rifle for faults before loading it and firing a single round into the water nearby. The water is shallow, however, and the round detonates. The artillerymen are impressed. The figure fits magazines into various places and settles down to wait with its miniature brethren.

They do not have to wait long.

A little way in from the destroyer, a darker patch of water becomes apparent as it swiftly advances upon the shore. The foamy trails of torpedoes are visible as the destroyer launches a withering salvo at it. A hundred metres from land, one makes contact in a muted plume of water.

The shadow keeps advancing as the other torpedoes detonate against the rock of the seashore. It slows to a stop only metres from dry land.

That is when the entity rises out of the water to reveal itself as a roughly humanoid figure. It has what are recognisable as a pair of legs and a pair of arms.

That is where the similarities end.

Everyone is too stunned to do anything as it takes its first tottering steps on dry land. Its empty, vaguely avian sockets stop their scan mid-sweep and it turns its whole body to face the waiting figure of black and grey.

Everything is very, very still for a moment.

The silence is broken by a shot. It's a small thing, probably a pistol. Neither of the giant figures notices, but many of the artillerymen look around dumbly for the firer. In the fearful quiet, there is the distinctive sound of a mortar being fired and then another. An artillery piece fires and, in the next few seconds, the figure on the beach is the centre of a whirlwind of sound, light, and smoke. The kneeling figure fires off a few rounds experimentally.

The firing comes to an abrupt halt, as everyone waits for the last of the smoke to clear. Seconds later the alien figure is revealed to be unharmed, though they cannot help but read a certain degree of taken-aback-ness in its guarded poise. The giant on the hill raises its weapon and resumes firing, the soldiers scrambling to follow suit.

* * *

><p>The rumble of the guns was ever-present as the jeep made its way down the deserted northern highway. They faint but distinctive roar of jet engines had been an ever-present accompaniment to the increasingly sporadic report of the artillery, but they could be heard no longer.<p>

The jeep was green and emblazoned with the flag of the rising sun. It had four wheels, five seats and was wholly unremarkable in itself. The windshield was up, but not the flimsy hood. In it were three people; all natives, and all in uniform: a girl in khaki, a woman in black, and a boy in black-and-white.

Strangely, the woman sat in the back with the kid.

Stranger still, she was practically sitting in his lap.

As one might expect, he appeared extremely uncomfortable.

She seemed to find his discomfort very amusing.

The driver was doing her best to ignore the both of them, but she snuck in a peek every once in a while. They were going too fast for her to hear them properly, but she was pretty sure that _the officer_ was doing most of the talking. One thing was for sure, though; she envied that kid. Just look at him, sitting there with a _Captain_ fawning all over him...

'Why can't I ever get some of that?'

The line of thought took a turn for the serious as she noted a road sign. Not too long before they would be at the station now. Couple of minutes, tops.

'Regulations, of course. Then there's _competition_...' she pretended to examine another road sign as they zoomed past so she could give the young couple another quick assessment, then sighed at the conclusion. The both of them were prettier than she was. Which formed the basis of the third point. 'Demand.' Everyone loves a man in uniform. An officer's uniform, that is. It's probably right there in the constitution. Which was funny because the constitution was very clear on the subject of military officers – there weren't supposed to be any. 'But what have we here?' She grinned to herself. Ha-de-frickin' grin faded as she noticed that something was missing.

Her brows furrowed in concentration, then went slack as she paled.

The guns had stopped. Not just... muted or paused or whatever. They'd stopped entirely.

She felt sick all of a sudden. Ill-at-ease, having a bad feeling about this, that sort of thing. There was a whole _division_ out there! Foreigners, too!

As her brain worked the matter further, she felt more uneasy still. The jeep had a radio, but they hadn't given her a channel to use, which was bloody typical. There were still jets and helos around though. You could hear them just fine. She scanned the sky for them with one eye on the road.

The planes she could see were flying _away_ from the action.

The Captain noticed her looking around, and they exchanged a significant glance. She stopped teasing the kid and produced a pair of binoculars from somewhere, starting her own scan.

They couldn't be more than a minute from the station now, surely.

"Stop the car."

She did. Too quickly, if anything; the kid ended up sprawled over her shoulders but that didn't matter because _they had togetout_. The two of them practically threw him out before rushing him into the drainage ditch at the side of the road. It was the only cover for maybe half a mile.

"Keep your fingers in your ears and your eyes closed. Don't stop until I tell you to. Got it?"

He nodded, but questions were evident in his eyes and he opened his mouth to "– just do it."

He obeyed and curled up into a ball. The sky lit up like… like something _very_ bright and the last thing she saw in the split second before she did the same as the kid was the Captain throwing herself on top of him, fingers in her ears. She couldn't help but be amused at how silly she looked in that moment. Her laughter was reduced to utter insignificance by the heat and sound that followed.

* * *

><p>A clatter sounded as the receiver tumbled back into its cradle.<p>

JSDF Chief Ishiwara let his arm fall to the table as he gripped the bridge of his nose firmly between his fingers. Squinting his eyes shut for a moment, he inwardly despaired.

'A whole division... There's no way I'm not losing my position for this. But what choice did I have? How was I to know that bastard's fucking..._invincible_? And _him_... millions of dollars, thousands of our top personnel... and he has the balls to say he doesn't even have a _single _bloody machine good to go the _minute _someone actually _needs _him in his petty little nobody's _life._'

The little nonce was trying to make him look bad, he just _knew _it.

Major General Petrenko, liasion to the Peoples' Far Eastern Station Expeditionary Force, reached across and stubbed out another gold-rimmed cigarette in the ashtray. This was not a good day for him either. The Americans and their 6th Fleet had gotten off relatively lightly, but...

'..._but we can't have lost less than half a division, and all our armour._'

He glanced sideways at the 6th Fleet representative, who was now talking at length into his phone with his hand cupped over the receiver. Petrenko rolled his eyes. 'It's tapped... _idiot_.'

With any luck he would be talking about alternatives. Final solutions. _Nuclear Weapons_. The Peoples' Expeditionary Forces had their own of course, but now was certainly not the time to reveal they had them. Well. Not when other options were still available. He glanced down to the silent duo on the balcony below. His gaze fixed itself on the back of the seated man who he was willing to bet was the object of the JSDF Chief's silent indignation. It was curious, really, the timing of it all. There was no real _need _for him to stick around, but it wasn't like he had anywhere better to be, so he might as well be sitting in a comfy chair, smoking and enjoying the show...

Rear Admiral Casey replaced the phone and held his hand there for a moment, taking the time to compose himself; cracking his knuckles under the table while wondering just how to break it to his comrades-in-arms.

'_Comrades.'_

A loaded word. Once upon a time, that word could have meant raised eyebrows and maybe a surreptitious memo to the OSS—no, the CIA. They'd come a long way since then. Now, they were all 'Comrades in Arms', 'Working Together for a Better Tomorrow' and, simply, 'Friends'. He recalled the 'Friends' poster, with the hand-shaking and smiling people working together for a better tomorrow... more than that, he remembered the newspaper cartoon version of it. The one with the bear tentatively offering a single claw up to an eagle hovering over its head, which in turn extended a single claw back down its way. Anyway.

He cleared his throat and found the Jap looking at him with an expectant look. There was another change. Having him and the Russkie around, that is. A Jap _and _a Commie. Shifty-looking, the both of them. The _socialist_ was giving him a smug look, the creepy little bastard. At least the oriental was keeping respectfully humble.

"Gentlemen," he announced. "The Secretary of Defense has authorised the use of the United States Navy's nuclear arsenal in this engagement. We will be using an enhanced-radiation nuclear weapon to take down the... _Angel_. We will deploy the weapon in five minutes."

Ishiwara did not look pleased, to say the least. His mask of calm cracked and contorted into a scowl as he opened his mouth... and paused, having drawn the gaze of both his superiors. The thought suddenly dawned on him that he couldn't be fired anymore than he was already. Well, he had no intention of being fired, but the moment he was out of here he was renouncing his retirement. It was just a question of jumping with as much dignity as possible before he was pushed at this point. Still, might as well let them have it.

"Five minutes? _Five minutes?_"

Ah. He'd said that aloud. The standing man on the balcony below had turned his head a little to look at him from the corner of his eye, and a few technicians were looking right at him, but he really didn't care, not anymore. He was going to say whatever the hell he wanted, and these people were not going to ignore him. Oh no, they could not, they_would not, _he would not let them_! _The damned arrogant foreign bastards_._"My people are out there. They have no transport and no cover and _this _is what you propose? No. NO! This is _not _your country, and this is _not _your decision alone to make! This is unacceptable! I cannot allow you to do this!"

The standing man's gaze lingered a second longer, and then he turned to face the screens again. Ishiwara stood over the Admiral, glaring daggers into the foreigner's dull blue eyes. Eyes which remained wide and unblinking as Casey glared right back at him. A slight, dark half-smirk crossed the foreigner's lips. Ishiwara broke the eye contact for a moment to take it in, and the room grew a little colder as his renewed gaze hardened even as the intensity behind it lost steam. Casey's own glare had softened to something like a muted or indifferent look of slight sympathy as he pressed his lips into a thin line. His brow settled further as his face darkened. All traces of amusement at the little man's outburst were gone. "Five minutes. Secretary McNamara has already spoken with the Japanese delegation to the UN _and_ your Prime Minister. It's happening, whether you like it or not."

Petrenko chose to ignore the heated atmosphere at the moment, secure behind his own mask of complacency, he settled for a feeling akin to relief. He settled back in his chair and reached around in the too-small carton in his coat-pocket for another cigarette and picked up his lighter from the table. He preferred a match, but that required asking for one and_that_would've drawn attention to him. Best keep it between the two of them.

'Ah, nuclear weapons...' Petrenko sighed, lighting up and reaching for his telephone. Dialing the operator, he reaffirmed to himself that there really was nothing else to be done, not with certain people—his eyes flitted across to Ikari's back—being strangely reticent. He hunched forward over the table, propping his arm on it. He kept his gaze upon Ikari's back, and his eyes narrowed to probing slits. 'Why?' he wondered, simply. He glanced to the JSDF Chief hugging himself in his chair before returning his gaze to the sitting man's back. The Ikari he liked to think he knew could be callous. He could understand callousness. A certain degree of it was necessary for holding high office. So, callous, certainly. But, _petty_?

* * *

><p>"Nice to meet you too, uh, Miss Katsuragi, Ma'am." The transport corps driver bowed low and briskly to the uniformed passenger—or rather, the other passenger in military uniform—before turning to the altogether smaller figure of the second passenger.<p>

"Now, I'm a-hopin' _you _are a Mister Shinji Ikari, right?"

The driver offered a hand to the schoolboy. The kid hesitated, staring at the proffered hand as if he'd never even_heard_of a handshake before. The moment dragged out as the kid just stood there with an unreadable expression on his face. The boy's lips pursed a little and he took the hand, looking up and into the driver's eyes. His eyes were so deep.

'He shakes like a dead fish... he's so shy—_and pretty! '_ she coughed, dispelling inappropriate thoughts. "Well, uh, it's nice to meet you, young man."

The boy smiled a little. "Nice to meet you too, Mister. How do you do?"

The helmeted figure grinned, only to have the gesture assume a slightly vacant air as something registered in her head.

'_Mister_...? _Leave it just get on with it.'_

"I'm very well, thank you. You're not hurt or anything now, are ya?"

Ikari shook his head. They were still holding hands.

'_Oops_.' There were things that needed doing. This was a very important run.

"Uh...good. Now, yes, this here jeep ain't gonna right herself, and she ain't light, so if I could get a hand from y'all...?"

* * *

><p>"Report. What is the condition of the target?"<p>

There was a pregnant pause.

"Still standing, sir."

Casey cast an aside glance at his comrades' faces. Petrenko's darkened a fraction; his pencil snapped in his hand, unnoticed. Ishiwara seemed to collapse in on himself further, if that was possible. For his part, Casey raised his spare hand to his forehead and propped his head up on the table. If there was one thing two decades of experience had taught him, it was that as far as the immediate tactical situation went, nukes solved everything...

After a few moments Ishiwara glanced to take in the Russian's reaction. He reclined in his chair while chewing his cigarette thoughtfully. He glanced at the microphone, then to his comrades, and back to the microphone. He leaned forward, cautiously.

"Thank you. That will be all," he said.

He thumbed it off, and paused there for a moment, then put his head in his hands and clutched at his scalp. His fingernails forced strands of his thinning hair into his skin. He felt tired all of a sudden. So very tired.

"What now?" wondered Casey aloud.

* * *

><p>"Welcome to Nerv?"<p>

The Captain wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, and turned around in her too-small seat to face him. Then she noted the name of the pamphlet. Ah.

"Yup. We're a clandestine paramilitary organisation that answers to the U.N." He didn't look up. He just unclasped the immaculate folder and began to leaf through it, paying her no mind.

"You sure are quiet."

'Sector 52' flashed past. The dull, white, roman characters were brought into sharp relief by the drab grey of the badly-lit tunnel walls. Some conversation this was...

"I'm sure a lot of young men in your position would be asking a lot of questions right now, like 'what the hell was that thing?' and 'where are we going?' You know, natural questions in a situation like this."

His eyes further avoided her searching gaze, darting downwards and to the left. "I guess...I, I mean, it's probably classified and, you probably wouldn't tell me the truth..."

And with that, he had just told her he thought she was dishonest. He tried to gauge her reaction with a glance, catching a grin instead of a frown. "A pessimist, huh? You sound like one of those jaded old war vets..."

A thought occurred to her. _'Oops...'_

"Have you got your Nerv pass and identification papers?"

The kid reached down and fished around in his backpack for a bit. He paused for a few seconds as the train passed through a badly lit section of the tunnel, the third so far.

'Budget cuts, huh? Like a couple of lights are really gonna make a difference. Or comfy seats?'

She shifted in her too-small seat, suddenly conscious of the way her hips spilled out over the sides. She also thought she caught Shinji sneaking a guilty glance at her chest as they hung over the too-short back of the seat, a suspicion confirmed by what she could see of his face beneath his hair as it turned an impressive shade of red and by the way his hands seemed to lose coordination for no good reason.

Misato grinned to herself. Shy, awkward, insecure, young and full of spunk...well okay, maybe not that but he was _male... _as in, not a flit. You know, _normal. _Liking women. Though she had known this one guy who... anyway, Shinji Ikari was the poster child for being-messed-with-a-bility.

He composed himself a little, pulled out a crumpled and torn sheet of paper, and handed it to her along with his papers and national identification card. He looked so young in the pictures...and upon closer inspection, the paper wasn't damaged by ordinary wear and tear, and she doubted an accident would have ripped it apart quite so thoroughly. It might be difficult to tell what the telegram had said if the message wasn't so short. It spoke volumes about the sender, her new boss, and not good ones either. 'Message for Rokubungi I and K from Ikari G.: "_Come_."' It was in English_,_at that.

She looked over the paper at the boy immersed in reading the pamphlet, which smeltof whitewash, smoke, and mirrors. Somehow.

Still, some relationship those two had...

She handed the paper back and he took it without looking up, resting the file on his lap to stuff the crumpled sheet back in his bag.

"I'm guessing you don't have the closest relationship with your father."

He didn't look up at that, but his eyes did pause mid-scan before he resumed reading at a slower pace.

"Me neither," she said, turning around and putting her hands behind her head, yawning and arching her back.

He looked up at that; he was going to meet her eyes, but...his eyes and then his head dropped back to the page. Though he was eyeballing the text again his focus was somewhere else entirely; another train, long ago; a different bag; tears. _'Father...'_

* * *

><p>"It is obvious that our weaponry is ineffective, and we are unable to deal with the target." Ishiwara choked down the bitter pill.<p>

"We have turned control of the operation over to you and Nerv's Fourth Branch." He mustered his remaining dignity. "Don't disappoint us," he added, excusing himself.

Something in his manner suggested he wasn't coming back. The American belatedly noted that he had taken all his papers with him even as he turned to focus on the man on the balcony below—the one the JSDF Chief had been speaking to.

The formerly-sitting man stood to face them, allowing them to see his gloved hands and bearded, bespectacled face for the first time. He was a native, to Petrenko's mild and well-concealed surprise.

Everyone's eyes narrowed at the same time. _'Sunglasses...?_'

"Takes all sorts." Petrenko murmured to himself.

"Only a Jap." muttered Casey.

"By the National Spirit, I hate _you_ most of all!" Ishiwara seethed in silence.

Casey opened his mouth to peak, but Petrenko beat him to it.

"Are you sure you can kill this thing, Ikari?"

His comrades didn't bother to conceal their surprise. Those were the first words they had heard the Russian speak all evening. His usual indifference had given way to a look of mild concern. Casey's own features were grim, skepticism written all over his face.

"That is what Nerv is for, gentlemen." The man pushed his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose with the index and middle fingers of one hand.

* * *

><p>The three strode down another cramped and badly lit corridor. The silence was a busy one, the two women only exchanging the occasional sentence or two as Shinji trailed behind them with his nose buried in the booklet. Dim fluorescent tubes at five-metre intervals gave form to drab grey walls of cracked concrete. Dozens of pipes and wires ran the lengths of the walls and filled the grill-covered trench that ran down the centre of every corridor.<p>

'The air down here,' he thought as he sniffed and eyed the un-mopped floor 'isn't so good.' He looked up to the adults for a moment as they talked about synchronisation and the lady in the lab coat rattled of a lot of zeroes. He stared down at the booklet again, not really reading it. He'd gone through twenty of twenty-three pages of dense text interspersed with photographs of people looking happy and it _still _hadn't told him what it all meant, or what the people actually_did_for a living. Working at Nerve did sound like a good deal though; the pensions were very good. Why he should be worried about it now, he had no idea.

He glanced up at the blonde-haired woman in the white lab coat—Miss Akagi, he recalled. She was kind of intimidating. Miss Katsuragi and Miss Akagi both had such self-confidence... something he'd never really seen in women before. Well, not that he'd really been looking or even had a chance to look. His aunt had been the very traditional type and held no truck with 'Flappers' or 'Western-Wannabes'... though as for herself, _apparently _her responsibilities as his guardian didn't extend to her ever going out of her way to prepare meals for him, washing his clothes, helping with his schoolwork or... he sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to dismiss the unproductive chain of thought. Uncle was the same.

He opened his eyes. No, he knew he had to be grateful for what he had. He was lucky they had taken him in, and they hadn't been_bad_to him or anything. Lots of people had it much worse. Times were hard. Living in a small town had been a good thing in many ways—there was no rationing, for one thing—and the simple fact was that as much as he tried not to make extra work for his aunt and uncle, he was, that is, he _had been, _a living burden, an extra mouth to feed, even when he wasn't doing anything wrong, or being bad...

The door opened and they stepped into the silence and darkness of what had to be a very big room. Near-darkness—Shinji noted—as there was still a faint rectangle of light opposite and above them about, oh, fifty metres away. A figure stood silhouetted by the soft glow. There was a deafening 'click' and then another and another as Miss Akagi was revealed flipping a series of switches by the door. This sure was a big room.

Wait, this was a catwalk suspended above water, and…

The boy gave a small yelp and jumped backwards. The edges of Misato's mouth curled up a fraction at his reaction, and Ritsuko arched her eyebrows. It certainly was an impressive sight. He really was as jumpy as expected, which was a good start to this particular ploy.

He remained quiet for a few moments. Best let him speak first.

"What..?"

"I told you I was the Assistant-Director of Project Evangelion. _This_-" she gestured to the armoured face-mask" - is synthetic humanoid _Evangelion_ Unit One, the realisation of all my work. We _need_ an Evangelion up there," she stressed the word and gestured to the surface by way of her eyes.

She paused a moment longer to let that sink in for a moment instead of mentioning that they were all _fucked _if he didn't agree to do this. Well, they _could _use Mana, but it was far less likely to actually work that way. Obviously, otherwise they'd have done it right off the bat. "_You're _the pilot. Congratulations."

The kid was shocked, overawed and very, very afraid. Just as planned, really. He was literally speechless. This was kind of fun, in a cruel way. Misato looked on sympathetically as her colleague continued.

"I know it's bit of a bother," 'HA! Good one.' "but our first pilot is a tad banged up at the moment. The General Director asked for her to be brought in, actually. She... ah. See for yourself."'

The doors behind had opened to spew forth a veritable _platoon _of men in white coats. They slowed to a stop right in front of the boy and their ranks parted to reveal a girl on a gurney. The first thing he noticed was the blood-stained bandages on the white form-fitting jumpsuit, then her pale skin, and her baldness. She gazed up at him, and he looked down at her. Her gaze was one of impassive apathy complemented by a certain..._artificial _vagueness. He looked to her numerous intravenous drip-bags. The one nearest him was morphine, according to the label. His focus returned to her eye. How the _hell _did this happen? There was no way she was in any state to be... she shouldn't be doing_anything _except just lying there and resting in her condition. 'Should she even be awake?'

"Shinji..." he managed to stop himself from jumping too much as Misato drew closer and bent down to his level, glancing over to Ritsuko and staring into his eyes as he looked off into the water. "Please, look at me."

She shifted to move into his gaze and he turned his head to look away. His eyes fell upon the metal behemoth as it sat there in the water. She sighed as Ritsuko looked on with an expression she recognised as impatience. Her friend was business-like at the best of times, but sometimes she could be really...

Misato shook her head a little to dismiss the unfavourable train of thought and turned her focus back to the boy in front of her.

"We're not expecting miracles. It's a very intuitive system. Right, Ritsuko?"

The scientist nodded an affirmative as their focus shifted to her for a brief moment. "You just need to get in and we'll do the rest."

Misato had gotten caught up in the moment again. Of course, she didn't really know what was at stake here or why they needed him, exactly, though her help was appreciated for there was an all-too-real possibility he might have refused if she wasn't here to provide a softer touch. He needed to be prodded along a little, in her humble opinion.

"That is, of course, assuming that you don't ask Mana here to do it for you."

That got Shinji's attention. He didn't say anything or even turn to look at Ritsuko, but the boy stiffened a little. 'Damnit, Ritsu.' She gave her friend a very unkind look as she tried to soften the effect of the scientist's unthinkingly blunt... well,_threat_.

"We don't expect you to work miracles."

Shinji consciously looked into Miss Katsuragi's eyes and was surprised at how little distance his eyes had to move to do so. He hadn't exactly been deaf to her words, after all.

"All we ask is that you try."

He quickly averted his gaze again. He worked to swallow his objections and compose his resolve. Staring at the deck, he jammed his eyes shut and clenched his fists. His knuckles whitened. He tried to recall something he'd heard somewhere—or was it something he'd read—something wise and reassuring from a shrine, but it just wouldn't come. It had been something about duty and responsibility, maybe bravery and honour, perhaps even filial piety and feudal loyalty, or honouring one's ancestors, or respecting the spirits. No, the idea of fighting powerful spirits wasn't helpful. Anyway, whatever it was it didn't come to him. He cursed himself silently.

"I'll do it!"

He startled himself with the volume of his voice as he practically shouted in Misato's face.

"Sorry..." he murmured, his voice full of embarrassment.

His next words were resolved, if not quite_determined_. Bold, they were not. But there was conviction in them, however softly they were spoken.

"I'll do it."

* * *

><p>Ishiwara paused, rendered stunned by the implications of the sight. Outwardly, he was still careful to give no sign of any undue reaction as he lowered his binoculars and moved to the elevator. Inwardly, he was kicking himself and marinating in hate.<p>

'I didn't ask its condition...I just assumed that...' he sighed. 'Fucking hell.' He punched the button and handed the binoculars over to his attendant. 'Ah, fuck its mother. Not so invincible after all, is it? Tch…you knew, didn't you, Ikari? That'd be just like you. I'm gone, and you're the man who's going to rescue us all at the last minute. Bastard.'Where the hell did it go? I just got up here thirty seconds ago.' He punched the button again, willing the elevator to move faster.

The anger had already subsided. He couldn't be bothered with it anymore. He just didn't care now. He was almost looking forward to retirement.

"You're somebody else's problem now," he muttered.

The bell rang, and the Chief cast one last glance over at the thing in the distance as he waited for the doors to open._"You_too." He grinned, then gave a soft chuckle as he stepped in and jabbed the button for the subway station.

'I wonder which is worse...'

The doors closed swiftly with a soft 'whump'.

* * *

><p>"Sorry, if you could just try to stay a bit more still? We'll just be a moment."<p>

They had strapped him into the full-body control 'plug' suit—which was very bulky—and two technicians were now shaving his head with electric razors.

"It's for the electronic skull cap. It needs to be in contact with your skin."

A series of television screens dominated the inside of the 'cockpit.' Shinji had always thought cockpits were places where pilots sat down in front of joysticks, dials, switches, levers, and the like. There_were_some switches, but they were beyond his reach. There were some other buttons on his...gloves? Gauntlets? But Miss Akagi had told him not to touch them just now. The 'plug suit' was kept suspended in the dead-centre of the small space by a series of elastic-material cables—they were black; did that mean they were rubber like tires?—reaching out in all directions, some (those leading above) taut, and others (those trailing down and to the sides) hanging limp. They had put him into some kind of jumpsuit like the one the injured girl had been wearing, then strapped him into a harness, then strapped even more stuff onto that, and then strapped him into even more things left hanging on the harness rig inside. It was all very complicated and he hoped they knew what they were doing because there were a lot of moving parts, and he—

"Okay, Shinji?" Miss Akagi's voice sounded in his ears.

He tried not to be startled. It was a radio headset; he'd never actually worn one before. He had a microphone. He could see it in front of his mouth.

"Yes, Miss. But, uh...how does this all work?"

"Magic, Shinji. Daemonic magic. You haven't read the _Necronomicon_, I take it."

"Uh..."

There was a small, almost humourless chuckle.

"It's complicated. Suffice it to say, you'll be controlling the Eva from that Input-Feedback harness. There's a slight delay in input and feedback so it'll feel a little weird. The Eva will move more or less as you do and vice versa so it should be pretty intuitive. But it's a bit funny about pressure, speed, and force exerted so you'll have to literally watch your every move using the external imagery feed."

The techs finished up as Shinji began to feel the cold. The metal of the electric nodes was icy as he felt each being plastered to his scalp.

"Be aware, though, you're going to have to watch the subtleties of your grip and how you exert strength and pressure. It may be easy to get the gist of operating the Eva, but finer points of motor control and piloting in general are going to take a lot of concentration and practice. I'll leave you in Miss Katsuragi's capable hands; she will be directing you for the duration of the operation. I will be monitoring you from here. Good luck, Shinji."

The channel cut to static before he had the chance to thank her.

When his skull was neatly covered and they had given them the once over, they fitted the cap itself over them. 'Cap?' thought Shinji. 'This is more like a helmet.'

The technicians wished him good luck and, before he had time to thank them, they had sealed the hatch behind them with a dull 'thunk.' He was on his own.

"Alright, Shinji, listen up." The low buzz of the static was cut as Miss Katsuragi spoke. "It's simple. We're going to transport you to the surface by elevator a few hundred metres from the Angel. There will be a rifle, a revolver, and ammunition on a railway carriage there—" He lurched downwards suddenly and stopped. He remembered the 'entry plug' had to be inserted into the unit before it was activated "—assume a firing position lying down on the other side of the hill from it. When you're ready, take the shot. Have you got that?"

He realised that at some point the Eva had started to tilt backwards without his noticing. He must've been parallel with the ground when the he felt a tug of acceleration as the Eva was moved head-first. 'This is it. Here we go.'

"Uh, yes, Ma'am." No, wait. Did she call it an _Angel?_

"Good. You're probably wondering why we're asking you to do this; well, ordinary weapons are useless against an Angel, because... do you read science fiction?"

Shinji nodded, then realised that was stupid because no-one could see him. Why, he could... he could _masturbate _in here and no one would ever be the wiser. He blushed an incandescent red and rapidly shook his head again to clear his immoral mind and blurted a badly enunciated sentence of affirmation. He was too flustered to really remember what he had said afterwards, but apparently it did the trick.

"Ah...good. Okay. Angels and Evas are possessed of these... fields, okay? Angels deploy theirs in response to threats, to protect them from harm. We have designed Eva to project a field to automatically erode this field when they are in close proximity. Just _how_ close isn't clear, but if the field can be weakened the Angel is rendered vulnerable. From there, it's just a matter of firepower."

Shinji had been looking around the cockpit in the meantime. He had noticed that the television screens, _colour_ tele-vision screens had come on and were giving him a view of lights rushing by overhead. He'd never seen so many televisions in one place before...

"We have artillery and gunships standing by, they'll be doing most of the work. All you have to do is get its attention and lure it in close, and they... and _we_ should be able to take care of the rest."

A pause.

"Alright, Shinji, I'm leaving you in the Sergeant's hands from here on. Just do as he says, Okay? Sergeant-Major Kongo is a very capable man, he's a veteran and he knows what he's doing. Just listen to him, and you'll be fine. Alright?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good."

Another pause.

"Good luck, Shinji. We're counting on you."

There was nothing but the steady background hum and the rumble of the carriages for a good minute.

"I am Sergeant-Major Kongo. Welcome to my unit. Do you have any questions?"

"Uh..."

The moment dragged out.

"Sit tight and await my instructions."


	2. Succesful Failure

"Stay calm, keep low. Take your time."

Shinji fumbled and lurched about a little more slowly as he got his bearings. It was supposed to be a hill, but it couldn't have been more than a hundred feet high. It was all he could do to crouch behind it; he was sure the fins—'Why the hell did a giant robot need things like that anyway?'—on the giant robot's shoulders must have given him away by now. The 'hill' must've been a park, because a few hundred feet out from the base of the hill the grass ended and rows of near-identical bungalows began on the other side of a chain-link fence.

"You're too young to have done youth militia training... just press the little lever above and to the left of the trigger."

He mashed the switch and the gun broke. No…it didn't. The barrel swiveled on a hinge.

"Load the cylinder, then clip it back together."

They were awfully big shells. He picked one up and looked at it. It was a great, big, ugly thing, bigger than a man. It must have been from a battleship, it was so big. Handling it with the gauntlets felt strange, it was like something between a glove and a baseball mitt. He managed to load a shell on the second try. Gravity helped it slide in from there and all he had to do was tap it into place.

"Keep loading. When you're done, load the revolver. After _that_ get a feel for where your knife is, it's on your midsection. _Then,_ lie down on this side of that hill so we can line up your first shot."

A nervous, fumbling minute later, he claimed to be ready.

Ready to be attacked by a giant monster.

He wasn't alone, and he had all the equipment and he was in the right place, but... he just couldn't stop shaking.

Shinji Ikari was not a violent person, and he was no more a born soldier than the next 14-year-old. Hell, he didn't even have toy soldiers. Too expensive, his aunt had said.

"Line it up, first pin level between the last two."

He guessed, correctly, that the sergeant had meant the rifle. He'd never shot a gun, sure, but he knew what they were _for_. They'd had wooden toy guns in his town. The other kids had some, and he'd played with them sometimes. They'd always been fighting over the rifle, because it had the longest range. Not that the size of the gun affected the power of power of the "Bang!" and "Pew!" sounds one could make with them.

He leveled the tip of the front pin at the centre of the Angel as it towered over the multi-story buildings of the city centre. He then lined up the two at the back so they were level with and on either side of the first one, just as he had said. The Angel had its back to him, if it even had a back, so he didn't have to move the rifle much to track it.

"Rest the stock into your shoulder." He spoke again after a few seconds of audible puzzlement. "The back end. Press it against your shoulder to absorb the shock."

He did as he was told, and had to readjust his aim after he was sure, or rather after he hoped he was sure, it was 'into his shoulder'. The feedback system was rubbish at conveying that. He couldn't really feel it, where it sat. He kept looking at its position on the screens to make sure it hadn't slipped.

"Keep it steady. Gently increase the pressure on the trigger, don't yank it or jerk the barrel. Just let it go off on its own"

There was a pause. "Whenever you're ready."

He guessed he was ready. He had done everything they had told him to. A few helicopters buzzed not-quite overhead, and he could hear the distant scream of jets. A searchlight a few hundred metres to one side came on and swung around to illuminate the Angel which turned to face it just as a whole series of other searchlights flicked on and turned to further illuminate it. Still nothing happened. They were waiting for _him_. They were waiting...

He yanked on the trigger and the rifle fired with a deafening boom.

The shell exploded in the Angel's chest? Face? Chest-face? and it stumbled back a step. There were a hundred little flashes of light all over the city, and he could hear the rumble of the guns. A trio of jets shrieked overhead and he could see trails of rockets descending on the Angel from all directions even as it vanished it a haze of explosions. Shinji's heart was in his mouth as he waited to see what would happen next. From the centre of the lightshow there came a much brighter, purer flash of light and the screens went brilliant white —one went blank—and the Eva was half knocked back, half thrown backwards as Shinji reflexively shied away from the light and the force of what he only then registered as a blast, an explosion. A couple of seconds later he realised he was fine, he was unharmed, and feeling a little foolish he remembered that he was in a giant armoured robot. He had to defend himself, now. He snatched, or tried to snatch, at the rifle but it was clearly buggered and he stopped the attempt just as quickly. He looked for where he'd put the pistol and reached out to feel for it—and he remembered about the Angel. He looked up to where it had been, but it was no longer there.

'Huh...?'

Movement above caught his eye and he looked up...to see the Angel falling towards him feet-first. Yelping, he tried to scuttle back and down the slope and turn around to run before he remembered…

'_The Revolver!_'

Shinji tried to turn back as he reached for the holster on his bandolier belt-thing, but he couldn't really feel it properly and he was off-balance…

—and the Angel landed right in front of him…

—and he finally got the pistol out as he crashed to the ground, the handgun tumbling from his too-loose and uncoordinated grip, falling to the grass…

—at which point he was consumed by sheer, abject terror.

The Angel extended one hand and speared the Eva through the shoulder with its claws…no, with its arm. Somehow, a bolt came shooting through it and Shinji swore he could feel the loss of control in the arm as he flailed around trying to break its grip on his machine...there were a bright flashes—rockets—as he had a flash of clarity and dropped one hand to fumble around for the revolver or the knife or didn't know _what_, but the controls which required so much concentration to use effectively failed him as the sheer, bloody panic overwhelmed him and he forgot the few subtleties of their use that he had had the time to learn.

The Angel's attention shifted even as the rockets exploded all around it. It moved to grip one of the Eva's arms with both of its own, and it twisted and it pulled and he felt it as the feedback system performed the same gymnastics on him, on _his _arm. He felt something, some _things _give and he _felt _more than he saw the Eva's arm bend at a crazy, unnatural angle with a sickeningly fleshy sound as he felt the flesh of his arm, the Eva's arm, tear free from the bone.

Captain Katsuragi doubtless had a solid understanding of why that would hurt. What she wasn't prepared for, Ritsuko noted, was the screaming. Ritsuko never was good at reading people, in her own opinion, but if she had to guess she'd say it was a mixture of guilt and remorse that was twisting her colleague's features about now. It would be over soon. An arm was nothing; a few weeks and he'd be fine, mostly. But if Unit One didn't behave as she had anticipated, they were screwed. She lit up another cigarette as Misato practically _yelled_ something into her head-set-microphone, drawing the stares of some of the less pre-occupied staff.

The Angel gave the arm a few more experimental twists and turns, then settled for stabbing the Evangelion with its arm-blades. It ignored the spatter of ordnance detonating against its back as it ran one arm over the Evangelion, trying to stab it in various places. It eventually settled on one eye, and made a concerted effort to stab through that. By now the spattering had become a shower, and the park around it was being blown to mush. A shell struck the Eva square on the helmet and bounced off. Another such shell hit the Angel square on its shoulder, and it let out an inhuman screech and looked confused for a moment, looking about it. Another large shell made contact with the flesh of its chest, shredding its flesh with shrapnel.

The Angel whirled the Evangelion around and held it up as a shield. The Evangelion shuddered under the impact of the mortars, the shells and the rockets and chunks of its armour fell away as it bore the brunt of the firepower directed at the Angel. A shoulder-fin shattered as the bombardment quickly wound down. It was then that Evangelion Unit 01 was neatly impaled through its right eye, the blade sticking right through one side of its head and out the other side. The Angel withdrew its blade in a shower of what one would have called blood, had the Evangelion been a person. The Angel stepped back as if to study its handiwork, not willing to let go of its shield, taking in a better view of its would-be opponent.

Explosions still flared all around them, most of it from smaller weapons. It was still force enough to splinter the remaining trees into sawdust and grind the grassy mud into a kind of pulpy soup which the Angel began to sink into a little as it stood there in triumph, ignoring the increasingly sporadic hail of weaponry that now detonated ineffectually against its inhuman carapace.

It did not notice the hand of the Evangelion's good arm clenching into a fist.

* * *

><p>"You have a walking miracle of heavy machinery at your disposal, and you can't even lend it to us for <em>five minutes<em> to help clean up the mess it made? You've gotta be shitting me."

"Look, I just told you, the pilot's still hospitalised. There's hardly anything left of the thing to clean up anyway."

"That's _just_ the problem. We've got entire _suburbs _spattered with giblets from your little beastie. I mean, what is this stuff, anyway? The birds and the rats won't touch it. Hell, even the cockroaches won't touch it. Is it really okay to just flush this stuff into the lake?"

"We're running tests. We don't think it's toxic, but we can't say much else until we get a closer look at it. Even if it is, it's a big lake. Besides, the fishery has other sites. I don't see why you'd need an Eva for that kind of work."

She turned off her electronic calculator and sat a little straighter in her chair as she waited.

"That's... this rubble isn't clearing itself, you know. About that _thing_, the Angel... Suzuhara was saying he was about to use soft explosives on a couple of the bigger chunks when your boys came along and demanded a look in first. Then five minutes later, they say okay and he blows them up. What's with that? If you're looking for something, you could just tell us, you know?"

"Your people wouldn't know what to look for. I hope you understand the importance of this research."

"A-haha, I'm a civil servant. It's my job to look like I understand the needs of more important people. And then appear to be doing my best to address them. So, uh, how are you getting that miracle of yours away, anyhow? I mean... it's, uh, it's pretty big, hey. I went down, saw the sheeting for myself. You seem pretty keen to keep it under wraps, given, you know, the whole world knows it exists already. Even if there are no photographs, or anything."

"It wasn't my idea. We should have the Eva out of there within two days. It's really down to the pilot's recovery at this stage."

"Don't you have any reserves?"

"After a fashion."

"Eh? Then why-"

"-It's complicated. We have a rough idea when to next expect one of those things, so believe me when I say we've got time. Do you actually need anything, Ashitaka?"

"Uh, well, when you put it like that..."

"Very well. keep up the good work"

"I... thank you for your time, Miss Akagi."

She replaced the receiver and turned back to her modest pile of paperwork. She didn't have it too bad paper-wise, thankfully; most of the papers were just routine reports that had piled up. It was Misato that had the worst of it from yesterday. You'd think she'd get someone to help deal with it, a secretary or something, but no. At least Ritsuko had Maya, and Mister Ibuki. The two of them had proved themselves indispensable these past few hours.

From deep within the recesses of the disordered microlab-office she shared with her superior, there came a snort of contempt laced with disdain.

"Civil servants. Pah! Don't make me laugh. We don't need their kind around here. Bloody waste of space. Trust a civilian to make simple matters complicated."

The speaker shifted around behind her. A briefcase thudded shut, and the snap of latches was heard. There was a tap of shoes which advanced on her, stopping just behind her. She felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Alright, I'm off to the recovery site. Can't trust these civilian types unless you watch them like a hawk. I'll be off to Chicago this afternoon. Take care of things for me until I get back. Next one shouldn't be for a week or so."

He gave her shoulder a hard squeeze, then strode out.

She crossed out the characters she'd been writing, incorrectly - well, it wasn't that they were incorrect so much as that they had started spelling out her real thoughts - and started the section over. Gods, she hated him.

He had only been gone a quiet, form-filling minute when the phone rang again.

"Hullo."

"It's me, Miss. A Russian wants to speak to you." It was Maya.

"Alright, put him on." She made a note of the figures on the display and then shut her calculation computer down again. A click came from the speaker.

"Good morning, General Ishii."

"I'm afraid the Director's not in. As the Assistant-Director of Project E, his responsibilities fall to me in his absence. What do you want?"

"Field Marshall Koroviev wishes to speak to the General."

"I'm afraid he's not in. Just put him on."

"He asked for the General specifically. If you could just-"

"Just put him on. Please."

There was a pause... and then a click. Her eyes flicked to the speaker by her ear as it blared static for a few moments before resolving into a voice speaking excellent Japanese.

"Good morning, General."

'_Conspicuously_ good Japanese. Why would...?'

"Good morning, Field Marshall. General Ishii is unavailable at the moment; I am Assistant-Director Akagi. How may I help you?"

"Ah, that is unfortunate. I am the new Far Eastern Station Military liaison, Major-General Petrenko. Alas, Field Marshall Koroviev speaks no Japanese, though he trusts in my skills and respects my judgement in dealing with you. Miss Akagi, did you say? I believe we have already met, though I expect you would not remember me."

_'Ah.'_

"Yes, I remember you, General. _The Cossack. _A little young for the position, if I recall correctly." _Relatively_ young, that is. He couldn't be that much older than she was.

"Ah! Well, yes. A little young. Yes... forgive my abruptness, but I must speak with you urgently, Miss Akagi. The Field-Marshall is not pleased by our losses, which look like they were for nothing. If I am to defend your organisation and justify your decisions to the High Command I must know the reasoning behind your actions yesterday. If nothing else, the press needs to know how to present this news to the public before the rumour mill blows things all out of proportion."

"I understand. I assume you'll want to be seeing me in person."

"Indeed. Is Mister Fuyutsuki in?"

"I am afraid he left with the General. I can make an opening for you by two."

"Good. Yes, two it is, then. If you could give your people notice of my arrival this time, that would smooth things over considerably. Time is valuable, yes? I shall see you then."

"Goodbye for now."

She gritted her teeth as she set the receiver down again. She was not looking forward to this. Ishii... he had possessed an uncanny ability to collect praise and avoid fallout as long as she had known him. His actual management skills were mediocre at best, but that small plus was more than offset by his personality. Considering the mostly-political nature of his appointment, she wondered how someone like him had managed to land himself the position in the first place.

That said, the one thing that really marked him apart from Ikari was his grounding in the sciences. Granted, neither grasped all the basic details of the project - even she didn't understand every aspect, not fully - but at least Ishii had some idea what was going on and what it all meant. Ikari was... a good bureaucrat and a master manipulator, but he was very-near clueless when it came to the technical side of the project. Oh, he was very good at hiding it, like he was at hiding most things, but there were some things even he couldn't bullshit about. Hard science was one of them.

Now, she had... two and a half hours to refine, to perfect her version of events. Well. Ikari and Ishii's version of events, which they had decided upon a week back. She knew them off by heart by now, so there was nothing to worry about. Even if the NKVD felt like sharing all it undoubtedly knew - which, knowing them, could be just short of_everything_ - with Petrenko and Koroviev there still probably wouldn't be anything to worry about. Her version of events would go out to _Pravda_ and... whatever it was they read and listened to over there. All part of the state press. It ought to be similar within Japan. The West was another matter; she assumed Professor Fuyutsuki's absence and Ikari and Ishii's little trip had something to do with it, but even then. The handling of yesterday's events would prove Nerv's true power, or rather the power of its backers. The Cossack could push, and some holes might appear - but what then? No, he probably wouldn't push it. The real reasons behind their actions that day were... she didn't know all of them herself. Even the 'true' version of events as she knew it didn't quite match up. It was like a game to them, a great game, with dozens of players and thousand pieces of which she was just a one. A game. Powerful men were among the most immature, after a fashion.

* * *

><p>"Check."<p>

His thumb partly in his mouth, palm inwards with his nail facing his opponent, King was lost in concentration. Crouching on his seat with his knees to his chest, he leaned his shins on the table. He broke his gaze and looked Casey dead in the eyes with a look of dread seriousness.

"Tell me, are you familiar with... the _Hand of God_ gambit?"

Casey raised an eyebrow.

"No..." he didn't like the sound of this. He wasn't much good at chess, but neither was King. Right...?

"Ah. Well, it's simple."

In one deft movement King swept the entirety of the back two ranks of Casey's formation off the board with his hand.

"Victory is mine! Ah-hahahaha!"

Casey's expression of utter disdain was priceless.

"That's real goddamn mature, King."

King doubled over laughing. He clearly thought it was hilarious.

"You think that's fuckin' hilarious don't you?"

The grown man's laughter only intensified.

"I have no idea how you made Commodore."

Casey got up from the table and took his mug to the kitchenette bench to pour himself some more coffee.

"Hey," King called out to him, though he was less than five feet away "I can be serious when I want to! Lighten up, will ya? It's not like we've got anything better to do."

"Yeah, well... I have better things to do than go around on my hands and knees cleaning up after you."

"Hey, it's fine. I'll get 'em."

He moved to do just that as Casey sat back down at the table, re-placing his mug back on his coaster. Now... he should say it now.

"As for yesterday's action... what the fuck _was_ that thing? I heard it handed the Marines' asses to them. And my mate on the _Maddox_... he says they saw it, the thing that did it, with their own eyes. Him and his entire _watch_, he says. I mean, he's only a navigator. But he _saw _it, he says. "

No-one had told Casey just what was classified and what wasn't. That was strange to say the least. Normally Intelligence would have been all over him about it, but they hadn't said a thing. He cast a quick glance around the room. No, that was stupid. They wouldn't spy on officers just like that. There wouldn't be any bugs. So...

King was gazing intently, searchingly into his eyes. The dope's finger was in his mouth.

Where to start? How much to say?

"He's right. We're fighting something different. Real _dif_ferent. They called it..."

He returned King's look and leaned forward a little for effect.

"An Angel."

He leaned back and took a calculatedly nonchalant sip from his mug.

Looking down from the ceiling he noticed King had somehow crossed the distance between them in the space of a second and was practically sitting in his lap. If he was not a man of such great restraint, he would've spilled his coffeee all over himself.

As it was, he still scalded his hand a little. A slight tightening around his eyes was the only indication he'd even noticed it. King clearly expected him to continue. So he did, speaking in the same tone as before as if un-fazed.

"I can't say what it was, or what it was doing, or where it came from... all I know is, the Japs took care of it themselves after we nuked it. Some secret project. All very sci-fi, like the pulps."

He paused to take another sip.

"I just pray that will be the last we hear of 'Angels'. Until I retire, anyway."

King couldn't help but give a tiny grin at that, too. He didn't have to be told that this wasn't something he should go blabbing about, and he knew not to push it.

"Cheer up, King. We'll be fine. Another game? A _serious_ one, this time?_"_


	3. Recovery

"Mister Kongo."

"Miss Katsuragi."He bowed a fraction. She gave the slightest bob of her head.

They both eyed one another, unmoving. There was a quiet hostility in his gaze, one mirrored in hers. The man at the Captain's side shifted nervously from one foot to the other. He didn't like the look of the other man, the sergeant. There was something about him that seemed... off. He just had this _feeling_ that that composure, that unsettlingly calm and deliberate demeanour, could - would? - snap at any moment. Or perhaps, her companion thought, he was just imagining things. He knew computing machines inside out, but people? No...

The man's gaze flicked over to him and in an instant he found himself looking at the buttons on the control panel instead. The elevators in this place were so slow...

"Nariakira will direct the boy for the recovery operation. We'll call on you again once we've got him rested and settled. You're dismissed for now."

"Miss." he bowed a fraction. They stayed that way for a while, until the lift came to a stop and the doors opened with a whoosh and a slight screech of metal on slightly mis-aligned metal. She continued to eye him as he turned on his heel and marched out. Her gaze - glare? - lingered on the doors as they closed again. The elevator resumed its upward ascent. He finally felt at ease to leaf through his papers again.

"What did you say your name was, again?" He looked up to see her giving him an expectant look. He took the pages out of his mouth with his free hand.

"Ibuki, Miss. Captain. Ma'am."

"Ah, so _you're_ Ritsu's favourite, then." She flashed him a little smile. "Funny, I thought you'd be more..." the smile grew wider "female."

"Ah, er... thank you?"

"Oh, not at all. It's just, Ritzie's always been a bit funny about working with guys. You must be a very... _special_ young man."

He blushed.

"I... well, I, I work with her a lot, and I'm _really_ glad to, she's taught me _so many things_, I mean, it's, it's just computer science really, that's all I'm good at, but, who wouldn't be, you know..."

Something in his flamboyant gestures and his earnest, overeager and friendly manner didn't sit right. Misato had liked to think she had a fairly decent deviant-sense, but she wasn't quite sure what to make of him. If he wasn't a flit, then he might well have a crush on her - on Ritz, that is. The real question was whether Ritsuko had thought all this over sometime. Even if she had, there clearly wasn't anything going on there. Or was there?

"How long have you been here, Lieutenant?"

"Oh, ah, going on two years now."

The elevator was taking a very long time... she checked the dial again, then realised that the one in this elevator was blank; no-one had gotten around to scribbling the numbers on yet, apparently.

I, well, I was recruited straight from university, If that's what you're thinking."

Hmm. Well, it showed. It really did, in a lot of ways. Must have been a very ivory-tower sort of place.

"University?"

"Informatics."

'What the _hell_ is informatics?' she smiled and nodded like she had the faintest clue what it was. Oh. Probably had something to do with computers, hey. "Here, or...?" the elevator slowed.

"America. And England."

The doors opened soundlessly and they both stepped out. It was another of Nerv's practically unmarked three-way intersections. 'Practically' unmarked because a great white 'Sector C-12' graced its drab grey walls. 'Another', because it looked just like every other one in the entire complex. If it wasn't for the sector markings, you'd be looking for cracks in the concrete and counting the wires and pipes overhead. He was about to bid her good day when he noticed her looking a bit lost, unsurprisingly. Well, she may be his superior but she was also a woman, and was it not a man's duty-

"How do I get to the motor pool?"

"Uh, ah..."

He didn't actually know. Maybe the station conductor would know? There was a railway station on this floor. Even if not, there were telephones there.

* * *

><p><em>Light.<em>

He opened his eyes a fraction.

The light, the sunlight, was very bright.

His blinked slowly in the glare. He didn't feel too good. He was lying down in bed. It was so bright...

_Too bright._ His bedroom window didn't catch the morning sun...

His arm was set straight, in a cast. He couldn't think why he needed it. His hair was gone, too. Under the clinical white of the ceiling of the room that was not his own, he just breathed, and blinked, slowly.

* * *

><p>He must've fallen asleep again, because the next thing he remembered was the rattling.<p>

There was a faint rattling in the corridor which stopped outside his door. There was a thump and the door was kicked open. It swung reluctantly and did its best to shut itself in the face of its would-be opener. The kicker pressed their back against the door, overpowering its defences and forcing it open against its will. Declaring her victory with an unladylike grunt, the woman dragged the trolley through the door and cursed under her breath. There was a faint smell of something not unlike rice gruel.

She turned to face him and smiled, radiating a small but nonetheless comforting measure of energy and warmth.

"Well, then, good morning, Mister Ikari. How are you feeling? It's a lovely day, isn't it?"

Sitting up properly to face the lady - a nurse, he figured - Shinji found he didn't know what to say to her. After a few seconds of puzzling, he gave up and remained silent, determined to be as little of an inconvenience as possible. Looking around the room for the first time, Shinji realised that his was the only bed in it. He had never actually been in a hospital before, but that wasn't normal for a hospital was it? She had forced the window open with a single swift movement and started back to the trolley. A very slight breeze flowed out. There was air-conditioning machinery in here, then. He looked up and saw the plate-sized grill in the center of the ceiling.

"Hmm. Not the talkative type I see. Well, not to worry. You're not in pain are you?" she looked at him expectantly.

After a few seconds of her standing there he realised it wasn't a rhetorical question.

"Uh, no."

She gave a grin. "That's good. Don't worry if you're none too sharp for now, you ought to be pretty doped up. Your auntie was quite insistent on that point."

'_Auntie_?' His aunt had asked after him? It was terrible of him to have thought so, but it really had not occurred to him that she would go out of her way to see to his health.

"Don't be worrying about that now, we'll be giving you some more to take home with you. Now: breakfast."

She produced a bowl and filled it with something hot - oats? - from a pot embedded in the trolley. She had a nametag in both English and kanji. She kept moving so he couldn't read it. She placed it, the bowl, on a tray with two ceramic jars (one large and one small) and two spoons (one large and one small). '_Takahashi_,' he read. She placed the tray on the window-side bed-side table, the one not dominated by the wireless.

"Your aunt will be along to pick you up shortly. You just stay put until she comes for you, alright? Unless you want to feel a right silly bugger when we have to call your name on the announcement system for the entire hospital to hear."

She looked him up and down for a few seconds, hands on her hips. "Alright, if you need anything just give us a call. There's a button right...here…"

She patted the wall by his head, drawing his gaze. "And don't be afraid to call us. There's no point in waiting until you get out of here to tell us something's wrong. This _is_ a hospital, you know." She winked at him. At some point she had caught his eye.

"Thank you, Miss Takahashi."

She gave a radiant smile. "You're welcome." She had managed to coax a little smile out of him as well, almost in spite of himself. "Oh, cheer up. I've seen boys in here with far worse self-injuries. Kneecaps all off to one side, ribs through their chests, bits of their guts pokin' out..." she laughed at the subtle change in his facial expression. "Oh, come off it. You'll be fine. A month or two and you'll be right as rain. You're not the first young lad to injure himself and you won't be the last. Any questions, before I go?"

He seemed to chew it over, his head turned aside. "Um... you said, that my Auntie was coming? By herself?"

She bit her lip and assumed a thoughtful look. "She didn't mention anyone else, but she did say she would be over shortly. She was _ever_ so glad to hear you were okay, though. Anything else?"

He looked unsure, but shook his head after a couple of seconds. She would ask if he was sure about that, but, she got the feeling that probing would just earn her another head-shake.

"Alright. Now get yourself plenty of rest at home and don't go straining that arm of yours. Take care, now." With a final grin flashed his way, she wrestled the door open and launched herself through it. The door vengefully clipped the back end of the cart as a final slight to her progress, slowing her down for a good few seconds before she palm-slammed it open and yanked the cart from its grip.

Shinji stared at his bandaged arm for quite some time.

A solitary cicada started to chirp. His eyes lingered for a moment more before looking to the windows and out to the garden. He sat there for a long while, just looking out to the grass and the flowers and the blonde-haired man in the wheelchair sitting out in the sun.

The light dimmed as a passing cloud obscured the sun. The sitting man turned his chair to move back into the building, heading Shinji's way. He looked up to the building as he approached. As Shinji looked down, he saw the man's pale face looking up to his own. Shinji's eyes were drawn to the white patch in his lap—the bandages where his legs ended mid-way through his thigh. His eyes darted aside and locked themselves on the spot where the radio plugged into the wall. There his eyes stayed as he tried not to think about that man, or why he was here... or whose fault it was, or how it might have been avoided, or the look in the man's eye just then, the look he wasn't even sure about, that he didn't know whether he had actually seen or if he had just imagined. It wasn't so much a haunted gaze, as a hollow one. It hadn't been a look of resentment, care or indifference, despite being centred right on him - even though the foreigner had been looking him dead in the eyes, he got the impression that the man wasn't thinking of him at all. The man hadn't been seeing _him_, Shinji, in the here and now, but something else. It was something imagined... or, perhaps, recalled. Re-lived.

After a while he realised his attempts to not to think about it were failing miserably. Even though didn't really feel hungry he lifted the bowl, scooped a spoonful of the stuff and shovelled it into his mouth. Oats, though he hadn't noticed until that moment. He'd just sort of assumed it was rice gruel. Could there be any two more ubiquitous Japanese meals? It had been over-cooked, not that that would've affected the taste much. He added a generous helping of sugar before trying it again. It wasn't like he didn't have sugar back home, but there still wasn't much of it to go around and his aunt was always sparing with it.

A few minutes after finishing his meal, he began to get bored. He was used to not doing anything in particular and just hanging around like a bad smell. But there was a radio here dominating the other bedside table. His very own radio. He could listen to whatever he wanted for now. He reached, then leaned, stretched, and fumbled to turn the radio on and tune it.

"—WE JUST Don't (_'should've turned the volume down first'_) know. It could be a year, it could be five. I hate to be the one to have to say 'no' all the time, but rationing—"

"—is half ten. You're listening to the BBC's Japanese broadcast service. The government of East Germany has sent troops to the East-West border and Berlin to enforce the ban on travel to West Germany. Observers say this has done little to stem the tide of emigration through Czechoslovakia. President Johnson has renewed calls for negotiations with Premier Zhukov and the Soviet leadership over the future of Germany, calling the current situation 'good for nothing and no-one.' The Kongo Intervention has hit encountered yet another obstacle in the form of unsepcified armed groups, with reports of US Navy casualties. France has since indicated its willingness to finally approve a UN resolution concerning the region. In regional news, a recent independent survey of citizens in Democratic Vietnam and Korea has indicated—"

"Good morning, Shinji."

He gave a small start and spun at the voice. _How did he not notice the door opening?_

It was Miss Katsuragi. Her clothes were dishevelled and she looked like one of the creatures from that american motion-picture film, _Night of the Living Dead_. He remembered getting a ticket to that for his birthday. Something in the way she shuffled across the room with only a hint of the boundless energy he remembered from before reminded him of the monsters in it. She moved to the window side of the bed and sat on it parallel to his waist. She just stared out the window for a few seconds before turning her head to look him in the eyes.

"How are you feeling?"

He realised that he had been staring at the side of her chest. He quickly diverted his eyes to the floor-length windows and fixed his gaze upon a spot in the flower beds. He hoped he had managed to avoid offending her.

"Uh, I'm fine. Thank you, Miss. How are you?"

_'Heh, he really is of that age_.' Misato grinned a little inwardly—despite her fatigue—at his complete transparency. _'How've I been? Shit. That's how. Can't say that to a kid, though. A_ kid, _huh_…'

"Ahh, I've been better, but I'll live." She gave him a little half-grin. "How's the arm?"

He glanced down to it. It itched a little, dully. He moved to scratch it and ended up giving the cast an ineffectual rub. "It's... okay."

They were both staring out at the flowers now.

"The doctors tell me you'll be fine as long as you get your painkillers and plenty of rest."

The news had given way to music. A cello sounded, slow, low and brooding. The melody, beautiful as it was in its melancholy, seemed at odds with the brightness and beauty of the morning.

_'Rostropovich?_' Shinji thought dimly.

Misato turned to face him properly, lowering her face to his level and looking him dead in the eyes. "Shinji..."

He finally met her gaze proper. His eyes were full of nothing. Or maybe that's just what she thought. As he saw it, her eyes were soft now, not searching like they had been back on the catwalk. Soft. Apologetic, even? But they still held a muted fire, some hint of that energy and determination he remembered.

"I didn't mean for you to get hurt. I didn't want to put you in harm's way like that but...you were the only person who could do it. The only person who could fight that thing, Shinji."

The boy looked away again at his arm. The arm broken for her...

"You did a very noble thing yesterday. You should be proud of yourself, Shinji. I owe my life to you."

Perhaps she had said too much. His eyes had not moved from his arm.

She wasn't sure if she actually expected him to say anything.

As it was, he didn't. He didn't even look up.

The strings swelled and faded, ebbed and flowed. Without really reaching a conclusion, the main body of the orchestra faded away and left a handful of instruments and a handful of musicians to carry a more... hopeful melody? Humming in the background—subdued albeit threatening to drown out the new development at a moment's notice—the rest of the orchestra settled for a charged acquiescence, an incomplete submission, to the new way marked by the vague stirrings of a counter-melody.

At some point a cloud had dimmed the morning's brilliance. Now the room became bright again. Breaking that bright silence, Misato spoke. "Come on, Shinji. Let's get you to your new home."

She offered her hand. He looked at it and hesitated. He looked at it like he'd never seen a helping hand offered before. He met her eyes again. He had forgiven her so easily.

He took her hand with his good arm and she helped him hoist himself out of bed.

"I think you'll like it."

* * *

><p>"Your stuff should be here by tomorrow. Your uncle was going to send it by National Post, but I made some arrangements of my own as soon as I heard about it. The <em>last<em> strike went on for a week. I swear, the unions are getting more powerful all the time."

Misato led him to his flat, carrying his bag. He'd insisted on carrying it himself but she grinned in his face and said that "crippled kids came before women." He managed a small smile at that one. They strode along the second floor of the four-story block, one in a row of countless identically ugly blocks on-base. The jeep—her jeep, she insisted—was the only vehicle in the parking lot. Come to think of it, it was the only one he had seen parked outside any of the apartments here. It had-

"We're here! Welcome to your new home, Shinji."

Coming to a dramatic halt she patted her pockets. In one smooth movement she fished out the key fitted it in the lock turned it and kicked it open. Stepped inside, she held it open for him. He hesitated on the thresh-hold. His gaze was fixed on... on the floor. No on the thresh-hold itself, she'd be willing to bet. She bit the inside of her lip and took a small gamble.

"Shinji..." He was paying attention, she was sure, though he gave no sign of it "This is your home now. Come on."

'Too direct?'

...

He took a step forward, crossing the thresh-hold. Standing in his new home, he felt he had to say something. _'Uh..._'

"Well, I'm... home..."

Inwardly, Misato was very conscious of the decisiveness and resolution with which he spoke those words. She would have to continue being enthusiastic and social enough for the both of them.

"Welcome home."

She was sure he caught the little smile she gave him.

"Come on." She took her shoes off, and he moved to do the same "Make yourself at home! I'm gonna see if I can change into something a little more casual. You have your pick of the spare bedrooms. Oh, and sorry about the mess."

_'_Change._ Mess...?'_ Shinji thought. '_Wait...'_

He had started to follow her, but he stopped mid-step as realisation dawned. "Uh, Miss Katsuragi, is this your..."

She realised she had left him behind and backtracked back around the corner.

"Yup!"

Perhaps that was a little too cheery?

"Uh, no, I mean... Mi-Misato...is this..._ your_ apartment?"

"Yep!" Yes, she was over-doing it. She came within a pace of him and made eye contact, making an effort to tone it down a little. "It's okay, I've taken care of everything already. I spoke to logistics and security and they're fine with it, so don't you worry. Beer?"

For Shinji, this was all happening too fast. Far too fast.

"Uh..."

_'Beer?'_

"Come on in, at least, don't just stand there."

She took his hand and tugged it as she walked, compelling Shinji to follow.

Living with his aunt and uncle had been one thing but...

'Wait a minute...'

As Shinji belatedly put two and two together and realised that it hadn't been his biological aunt that called about him, but Misato, the corridor gave way to a kitchen/living room. He could see a balcony beyond the glass doors of the living room. It was a neat and efficient floor plan, and it seemed likely the furniture had been ordered to match. It was simple and practical stuff, sturdy and reliable. On paper, it was a perfectly liveable three-bedroom apartment. His train of thought was de-railed again as she spoke and set his thoughts down another track entirely, one dear to his obsessively neat heart.

"Sorry if it's a little messy. Nice place, huh? It's meant to be for officers and their wives. Though I think you're a little too young and innocent to be my blushing bride."

The joke went un-noticed as he stood dumbfounded, deaf to her witty banter as he tried to take in the scope of the mess. She glanced back to him as he stood there and sighed, hoping he wouldn't be like this all morning.

Shinji was oblivious to her having left him to rummage around in the electric refrigerator. She emerged a few seconds later with two cans of beer and offered one to him. He looked at it like he'd never seen a can of beer before. Maybe he hadn't. It would be _so _unusual. He _was_ from some sleepy little country place, after all. Lots of younger people were, these days, with so many people living in the countryside since the previous war.

"I'm all outta sake, 'm'fraid. Finished the last bottle last Friday."

"Uh, please, no, th-thanks, I shouldn't... sorry..."

She looked taken aback.

"Uh... sorry..."

She gave him with an odd look for a moment, then shrugged. "Okay. Your loss!"

She pulled the tab off a can right then and there and downed it in five seconds flat, Shinji's eyes on her throat. Shinji wince-gulped. She let loose an enormous belch and sighed contentedly, moving to toss the lump of metal over her shoulder. Without even realising he was doing it, Shinji stayed her hand and prevented her from creating additional disorder and un-neat-ness. That brought the focus back to him, and him holding her hand. He let it go like it was red-hot and mumbled something completely unintelligible in an apologetic, if flustered, tone. Misato chuckled.

"Ease up, tiger. Buy me a drink first."

She only caught his face for a second as his startled eyes darted up to hers, and laughed as he turned brilliant red and tried to apologise profusely - tried because he had lost his voice, somehow. It was a little mean of her, perhaps, but she couldn't help it. He had really set himself up for that one.

"You're precious, you are." She playfully tugged on one of his cheeks. She had broken the ice, at least (even if it had been at his expense, poor kid).

"Just put your stuff down and take a shower. We have hot water here - these places are built for high-ranking officers' families. I'll get you a towel. Come on."

He slid his backpack of his shoulder as she walked down the hall to a cupboard, fishing out a clean towel and handing his bag back to him. "Shower's at the end, toilet's the last door on the left."

...

_'Say something.'_

"Uh, I... thanks, Misato. I mean… it's all... for taking me in. It's a bit... sudden..."

"Hey, it was my idea, remember? A boy your age shouldn't have to live on his own like that. It's not right."

She produced the other can from wherever she'd been hiding it and idly cracked it open, taking a gulp without really tasting it.

Misato didn't just want to walk away, wouldn't that seem rude? Shinji thought he should just go to the shower, but the moment had passed already and as the seconds dragged on...

_'Say something, idiot.'_

"Well, uh, thanks again, Misato."


	4. The Workplace

_"...the ploughman said. 'When will they take it away? '__  
><em>_'When the war's over.' So the talk began –__  
><em>_One minute and an interval of ten,__  
><em>_A minute more and the same interval.__  
><em>_'Have you been out? ' 'No.' 'And don't want to, perhaps? '__  
><em>_'If I could only come back again, I should.__  
><em>_I could spare an arm, I shouldn't want to lose__  
><em>_A leg. If I should lose my head, why, so,__  
><em>_I should want nothing more...Have many gone__  
><em>_From here? ' 'Yes.' 'Many lost? ' 'Yes, a good few.__  
><em>_Only two teams work on the farm this year.__  
><em>_One of my mates—'"_

Shinji yawned, lowering the little red book. He looked to his bad arm, holding it up to the light. He felt a twinge as he tried to bend it, and his eyes flicked to the painkillers.

One tablet every four hours. No more than eight tablets a day.

The liquid painkiller was much better. Up to three times a day, for no more than a week at the most. Any more, and he'd have trouble stopping... apparently. He had taken it thrice already, just to be sure. It made him a bit light-headed, but it seemed to be doing the trick. He felt just fine.

Tomorrow morning, on the other hand, was going to be difficult... and would tell him just how much pain he was really in, under all the drugs.

He edged the vial of bitter, vile-tasting liquid a little closer to the edge of his table, together with the bottle of Coca-Cola Misato had furnished him with to help wash it down. He carefully - nigh _reverently_ - set the string bookmark and placed the tome under his pillow.

Everything set and stowed, he lay back under the unfamiliar ceiling.

The shower had been nice. Hot - well, warm given the length of his guardian's shower - water was a real luxury. It made cleaning much easier, too. He had cleaned the kitchen quite thoroughly that night. The bulk of the rubbish was just wrappers and packaging which hadn't quite made it to the bin. A lot of it was foreign stuff, snacks and finger-foods. He didn't see a single meal ticket or ration coupon about the place, which was odd; he had meant to ask about her meal plan. She was eating a lot of pre-prepared stuff, too. If he had to guess - which he didn't, of course, but asking her about her eating habits seemed a bit personal - he'd say Misato seldom cooked proper meals for herself. There was little sign of the bones and dog-ends of vegetables that one would expect to find amongst the trash. Did she even have a vegetable garden here? Tinned vegetables came already prepared, of course, and meat came in tins as well. And besides, whole meat wasn't something that was eaten everyday even in his hometown, even in his Uncle's moderately well-to-do household...

Home wasn't a very welcoming or hospitable place, but he still missed it. How crazy was that?

The cicadas shut up as a convoy rumbled past, the engines droning and rumbling as they passed.

He wasn't a guest here. He was a part of her household, now. He had effectively been adopted into the Katsuragi family.

As far as everyone else was knew he was a Katsuragi, and not an Ikari.

For the most thought, that thought did not bother him.

The convoy left silence in its wake.

It may not be a man's place, but he felt obliged to do more to take care of himself given that she was providing for them both. The kitchen was a start. Now if he could be more active in it everyday, too, that would probably be a big help.

And maybe it would mean less of...whatever it was they had been eating today.

He'd had worse, but even then, that stuff was a special brand of... _"Unique_", as his Aunt would often say whenever she wanted avoid offending someone else's attempts at cooking. There was a fair bit of meat though, surely it had to be black-market stuff. He thought it could be horse. Then again, it was decidedly hard to tell just what her food was supposed to be until she told you.

He'd noticed a few crates half-hidden under some blankets in what was apparently the cloth-cupboard. They might've been the origin of some or all of it. The Japanese-and-English stamps on them had said they were US Navy property and provided a telephone number for good-natured citizens to report their whereabouts to should they encounter said property. Shinji knew people bought things from the military sometimes. He knew that sometimes they 'went missing' too - he wasn't totally naive. He didn't want to ask her how she'd got them, because then he might not like what he heard, and he'd rather not know where they came from than hear it from her they were stolen property. He hadn't heard good things about military food, but it was better than nothing in a pinch. Food supplies were generally reliable these days - reliably poor, perhaps - but if more of the monstrous Angels came - as Miss Katsuragi certainly seemed to think they would - then what man could tell?

The drawn out chirping of a cicada reached him through the open window. The noise was almost hesitant, as if it didn't quite know what to make of the light coming from the solitary street-lamp in the parking lot.

His Aunt wouldn't approve of Miss Katsuragi. 'Flappers', she'd called them - independent women, that is - though he had no idea. "They can't keep house," she had often said, "and what good is a woman who both usurps her husband's natural role as provider and cannot run a household? No one person can juggle the responsibilities of motherhood and a career. If it wasn't for us I don't know how your mother would have coped."

The cicadas were quiet, now. The night was still, and calming.

He missed his bedding-mat, and his old room. It was small, but he had thought it cosy. It made him feel safe. This... foreign-style _bed_ was raised off the floor and in the middle of the room, facing away from the door. It made him feel... unsafe. An exposed sacrifice to the monstrous spirits of the night.

After a few more moments spent feeling increasingly agitated, he got off the bed and with some effort turned it around and pushed it into the corner of the room furthest from the door. After he had oh-so-carefully-moved the heavily-laden table he settled under the covers again, wondering again what his Aunt would make of Miss Katsuragi, and what Miss Katsuragi would think of his Aunt, if they ever met.

He doubted they ever would.

Their goodbye had been so_ final_, so absolute...

They didn't have a telephone at home, but they had promised that they would write him once a month, so maybe he would hear from them soon. He reached under his pillow and touched the book, as if for reassurance, and looked to the ceiling again. '_My_ ceiling now, I guess'.

* * *

><p>Shinji Ikari awoke from a night of troubled dreams to discover that he had turned into a giant bug.<p>

Screaming, he flailed around knocking a few things off his bed-side table before falling out of bed proper, hitting his head on the table on the way down. He curled up a little the floor, clutching at his head. He tried to move his trapped arm out from underneath him, but it was stiff and he couldn't move it. It ached a little around his elbow. Lifting himself off the floor with his moveable arm, he sat back against the bed and took in the sight of his other arm in a cast. He tried to remember when he had gotten it, and why. And why he had been in a European-style bed in a bedroom that was not his. It didn't quite come to him, but what he did know is that it was safe here and it would be alright, he hoped. He noticed that he was wet; he had been laying in a damp patch on the carpet. There was an overturned glass not far away from him, with a little water still in it. There was his red book, which was now wet... he hurried to dry it off on his clothes. Thankfully the pages themselves hadn't been exposed, it had just been the covers. He placed it back on the table and noticed the other things around him; a couple of pens, a plain manila folder, and a photograph of a woman in a slightly suggestive pose. He tilted his head to look at it her properly just as he reached under his to adjust his under-pants, which had bunched up uncomfortably at the front in the commotion. She looked vaguely familiar.

He froze as the door burst inwards to admit the woman from the photo. Their eyes met for a moment and he remembered her. Miss Katsuragi looked worried at first, but she seemed put at ease by his expression. She quickly glanced about him, assessing the situation, but her eyes stopped their scan at his midsection, and stayed there. After a few seconds he followed her gaze and froze.

A few seconds after _that_, he looked back up at Misato without moving anything but his eyes. He suddenly reminded her of a cat she had once seen in her headlights. Her eyes drifted a little to one side as she tried to remember just what had happened to the poor thing. She had been pretty drunk at the time, to be honest, and she really wasn't sure. She really wasn't a morning person...

In the time it had taken her to think that through and realise that the atmosphere hadn't gotten any less awkward, Shinji had brought his good arm around clutch at his other arm, hugging himself and attempting to hide his embarrassment beneath his non-existent hair. He seemed to realise it wasn't working at about the same time she decided to break the ice with a joke. She summoned her best teasing tone.

"Please, don't mind me. Do you mind if I watch?"

It took him a couple of seconds to get it, but when he did, his reaction was _priceless_. Even if she couldn't see his face from this angle, what with him doing his best to hide it behind his arm. She allowed herself a little chuckle at his expense. "Just kidding", she said as she walked into the room proper and crouched down opposite him. He sneaked a look her way from under his arm. "I like it better when they don't know I'm watching."

His arm dropped and an expression of sheer horror crossed his features. That killed her. She burst out laughing and gave him a friendly little punch in the (good) arm before sitting back so she wasn't laughing right in his face. Maybe it was a little mean of her, but she was sure it had worked out for the best when Shinji sat up properly and wiped the sleep from eyes, which looked like they would rather not be forced open quite so early in the morning.

She was employing that searching look of hers, now. He returned her gaze with a squint through strained eyes. Her tone was all seriousness and business as she asked of him, "Bad dream?"

He nodded. Then said, "Yeah...". Just in case he hadn't made himself clear. Somehow.

"Heh. Well, you've got better reasons than most to be having them. I mean, just look at your haircut."

You could hear the cicadas at it again. Even at this early hour the sound of a lone cicada could be heard through the open window.

"Okay, lame joke. Cut me some slack. You really okay, though?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Okay. Well, we've got a busy day ahead of us. We need you to recover the Eva and bring it back to the cages for repairs. We were going to leave in about three hours but, seeing as you're up already we might as well roll with it. You think you can be ready in an hour?"

He nodded.

"'Kay. No hot water in the mornings, sorry, that's just the way the damn thing works. I've put some toast - got some wheat bread yesterday, don't ask where. Tea?"

Another nod.

* * *

><p>"Be careful, lad. There isnae rush. Just take yer time. We don't want yeh fallin' over now. It doesnae matter one way or t'other, 's long as yeh get back without destroyin' 'alf the city."<p>

"Yes, sir."

The radio headphones were too loud, but he didn't know how to adjust the volume.

He didn't have to watch his step so much now that he had made it onto one of the four-lane boulevards that divided the entire city into neat grids. He was still a little unsteady on his feet. He had nearly fallen over twice already. They cut the control/response feed to the Eva's damaged arm until he got it back to the workshop for treatment. He steadily walked it to the nearest section of exposed railway where an Eva carriage sat straddling several tracks. The former-rifle was clutched in his good hand, and the revolver—which was practically untouched—was in a new bandolier. The old one was gone, presumed destroyed. The new one hung loose on the Eva's frame. The Chief Engineer (what was his name again?) had told him not to bother with strapping it on properly since he would just have to take it off again in a few minutes. He probably couldn't have done it anyway with just one hand. Shinji remembered the armourer saying he didn't like the look of the rifle, but they could still strip it for parts back at base once they got a proper look at it.

He couldn't help but wonder, as he plodded along slowly and unsteadily, why the machine—the Eva—seemed so much more difficult to handle this time. Was it always this hard to control? He supposed it was damage from the Angel, the Angel he didn't remember killing. He asked Misato what had happened, but she said to ask Miss Akagi when he saw her. All he knew was, the Angel blew up and this is what happened. But Shinji didn't remember anything from after he fainted until he woke up in the hospital.

They said they had retrieved him from the Eva by helicopter. Today he got a birds-eye view of the area the Angel had destroyed when the transport corps had helicoptered them all to the Eva recovery site. He hadn't actually been able to see the Eva, which was covered from head to toe in tarpaulins, but from what he could see it had taken a real beating. It had been lying in a heap, face-first at the edge of a small sea of gore and devastation. Every building in a hundred-metre radius had been flattened. The recovery team had strategically bulldozed its way along the former streets to cut a path to the Evangelion. The Chief said they wouldn't have bothered if the Eva's batteries hadn't been depleted. They used helicopters again for the power cable connection, but it was cheaper to let the cable trail along the streets and pay for minor damages than to suspend it from a chain of helicopters. The legal department had people here too, he had said, to witness the property damage and take not of it. His chest itched a little, and he scratched it absent-mindedly. He wondered just how expensive an Eva...

Eh, wait... what?

He thought he had seen the fingers on his deactivated arm twitching. He had deactivated it himself. They had shown him the switches under the panel on his belt, and he had flicked the switch that had the luminescent etching that matched up with the ones on his bad arm. He was sure of it. The fingers couldn't have been moving... they should have just been hanging limp like the rest of the arm. He moved the fingers on his bad hand, experimentally. Nothing. Huh. But he had been so sure... he decided to give it anoth-

"-_Woah_, steady there, lad! Watch yer bloody step! I don't care how y'walk normally, y'ken _crawl_ on yer hands an' knees fer all I care, but you watch yer bloody step now or I'll tear y'a'new one. _Right_?"

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

"Don't be _sorry_, lad, jus' _do it_, that's what. Jus' you think about not screwin' up these last few steps, right? Jus'try not t'kill anyone today."

His last words were bitter. Pained, even.

"...sir?"

"I... I'm... look, I'm sorry, but will yeh jus' get t'the station now, right? There's a good lad. "

He didn't like the Chief Engineer's choice of words. Anyone _today_, he had said. Like it had happened before. He was too afraid to ask, though, just in case he actually had... but no, he couldn't have, right? He didn't remember anything. He wouldn't do that. He would never do that, kill someone, he wasn't like that, it must have been an accident. But so what if it was an accident? That was still someone, wasn't it? But he didn't want to know, he really didn't, because if he asked he might be told yes. And he'd rather not know and fear that he had than ask and be told that he had. What you didn't know couldn't hurt you, right?

He was practically at the station already. He unplugged the power cable as the Chief Engineer had told him, reaching around for it and depressing the switch as he yanked it out. He remembered Misato telling him it was like a petroleum pump at a motor-refueling station. He placed it on the back of a waiting mining truck and started the slightly awkward progress of trying to sit the Eva on its transport carriage. It was like he was trying to sit down in a delicate and awkwardly made seat. With limbs that were numb from being 'asleep'. He shifted his weight a little too quickly and tried to steady himself with his bad arm. He mentally kicked himself as he stumbled to his feet and tried all over again. Eventually he managed it. The carriage had a built-in power umbilical which was ready to go the moment he managed to sit the Eva back properly with only a few seconds of the electrical batteries' one minute-life left. He manhandled the limp arm into position and reached around for the radio transmission switch.

"I'm...Eva Unit 01 is ready for transport."

"A'right lad, I'll be seein' ya. Try not ta make so much werk fer us next time."

"Sir."

That was it, Shinji guessed.

"Lad?"

"Sir?"

"... stay alive, y'hear? You tell that arm o' yours to hurry up a'mendin' itself, now."

"Sir."

And That was really it. The carriage started to accelerate. Shinji thought long and hard about everything the man had said to him. He didn't feel any better for it.

It was a few minutes before he realised something; the hand of his injured arm couldn't reach the switches to de-activate his other limbs.

'But last time, they had activated everything just before I got off the carriage...'

He tried raised his hand experimentally. The Eva's hand moved with it.

He thumbed the radio switch and called for help, but there was no response. He gave up after half a minute and started to count off the minutes. It was—what—five…ten minutes to the cages at HQ?

His back began to itch.

He sighed.

* * *

><p>The hatch opened. It was the same men as before—the ones who had strapped him in.<p>

"How was it? Did she handle okay?"

"Yes, thanks. I think it was a bit less responsive than before."

"Hmm. That's not my field. Not just the arm then?"

"No, just... everything."

They got to work unclipping the lines and leads and detaching the removable components.

"Could be the neural input. Your hair grew back a little."

"Like that'd really have anything to do with it. My mate says they're barely needed at all."

"Bullshit. Of course they are. Remind me who has the PhD here?"

"Yeah, but isn't your PhD in, uh, physics? He's been doing electronic computers for a decade now. He worked with Turing!"

"Isn't he dead?"

"No. Well. Poisoned, but he got better."

"Suicide..? I heard-"

"-Don't think so. KGB, I reckon. Last I heard he was working with the Third Branch."

"You sure? I'd've thought it'd be second..."

"No, it's the third, I'm sure of it. He's English, wasn't... _isn't_, he?"

They hadn't introduced themselves and the moment was never right for him to ask. If he asked right now then it would be awkward, so he didn't. They had nametags, but they were never in the right position for him to read. They kept moving around all the time and they left as soon as they were done. They didn't really say much to him, but they always talked to each other like they did just now. To him they'd say "Good morning" and "How do you do?" and things like that... 'but they don't really mean it. It's just a formality.'

"Oh, uh... Ikari. _Ikari_."

That got his attention.

"A.D. Akagi wants to see you when you're done. The moment you're back in civvies, she wants you in her office. You know where it is?"

He shook his head.

"I'll get someone from security to take you, so be quick about it."

He stepped back and hooked his thumbs in his belt, admiring his handiwork.

"Okay, that's you done. Quick, now."

Shinji clambered up the plug's ribbed walls and burst out onto the catwalk. He made the mistake of looking through the grille to the water below.

It was a long way down, and the metal decking of the catwalk seemed very thin all of a sudden.

He hurried on his way.

* * *

><p>'All done.'<p>

The internal communications phone rang. 'Perfect timing.' Ritsuko Akagi put her pen down atop the pile of read reports and completed forms and picked up the phone.

"Yes?"

"It's the Third Child to see you, ma'am."

"Send him in."

"Yes, ma'am."

The door opened, revealing the Third Child. After a moment's hesitation, during which he appeared uncertain how to proceed, he settled for shutting the door quietly behind him and just standing there like an idiot.

"Please take a seat."

He sat in the chair she motioned to and rested his backpack in his lap, clutching at it a little for reassurance. She looked him straight in the eyes. He stared right back with equal intensity and depth of perception... at the papers which sat firmly in her out-tray, laid low in the shame and ignominy of defeat. The topmost sheet was in Cyrillic, the one under that in English...

"How's the arm?"

Interest and a hint of concern. Perhaps a little forced on both counts.

"It's... okay. Uh... how are you, Ma'am?"

She was taken a little aback, but there was really no reason why a little nicety like that should be a surprise. It was just polite after all. Introverted people were not necessarily without manners.

"I'm fine, thanks. Now, how's the Eva? Is it handling okay?"

"...I... think it was a little less responsive today."

She seemed to expect him to go on. It took her saying, "And?" for him to actually do so.

"Er... do you know why?"

She looked ready to answer that one. Eager, even, by her standards.

"Damage sustained during the attack, we suspect. We're running through the data recorders as we speak."

She licked her lips. He still appeared to be examining her out-tray though she knew better.

"I'm sure you'd like to know how you survived." A statement? If it was a question, it was an oddly put one as she didn't wait for him to make his thoughts known. "That would be our backup system. It activated after you fell unconscious. It's a little... savage. I can't say I'm not glad it worked, but I would prefer you to be firmly in control next time. Primal barbarism has its place, but I believe that far more can be achieved through the use of weaponry, tactics and discipline. Or so Captain Katsuragi advises me."

She didn't really expected him to say anything. She waited a few seconds anyway, during which time he remained unmoving, before speaking again.

"Now, I'm sure you're aware that the workings of Nerv are a sensitive matter. I don't know if you took the time to read your contract properly—under the circumstances I doubt it—but you are under obligation to keep quiet about what we do here. Pilots and those close to them have died because of such security breaches."

She paused. He looked like he wanted to say something. She hoped he would. Better for him to be too cautious than, well...

"... died?"

"Just last year now. John Brown, the fourth child. Someone blew up his house." Her eyes still firmly on him, she turned off her electronic calculator with one hand. "The Third Branch was up in arms about it. They were accusing the Second Branch of killing their sole pilot..."

She noted the added blankness in his expression of dull shock.

"The Third Branch is based out of Cambridge. The Second Branch is a Soviet venture."

He knew his geography, apparently. The knowledge added a furrowed brow of troubled-ness to the mix.

"That's not the first time either. We nearly lost the second child about... ten years ago now. She survived, but her guardian wasn't so lucky. The First Branch blamed us for that one. Her new guardian was one of our people. I don't have to tell you what that looks like."

She had come a little too close to going off-topic there. She shifted a little in her seat. His knuckles were white now as they crushed the edges of the bag he hugged tight to his chest. If his face was anything to gauge his feelings by, he was sufficiently worried enough that she shouldn't need to further impress the seriousness of the situation upon him. That was good. She had read his profile thoroughly, but one could never quite tell with men his age.

"I shouldn't worry if I were you. Those two were special cases to begin with, and the security net around you and Rei is quite tight. That said, it's best that people don't know you're a pilot. As long as you keep quiet, you shouldn't be in any real danger. Which brings us to your 'cover story'. I'm guessing you haven't read any _Ian Fleming_?"

He shook his head.

"Hmm. It's a good thing you haven't, really. First-world intelligence agencies consider him something of a mixed blessing."

She opened a drawer in her desk, rummaged around for a second and produced a thin folder which she gave to Shinji.

"It's simple: you, Shinji Katsuragi, and Rei Ayanami have rare neurological conditions which we are studying here. Your father is head of the institute, though he is too busy to take care of you."

His face darkened perceptibly with that line - she had been watching for it, truth be told. She didn't have to word it that way, or even mention it at all - he'd doubtless have read it in the folder even if she hadn't. She'd just wanted to confirm something for herself.

The best cover stories had their roots in truth, after all.

"He has his own private shelter in case of emergencies. You're living with your aunt, Misato Katsuragi. You moved to Tokyo-3 because your other aunt and uncle are too old to take care of you anymore. Don't go making up unnecessary details. Lie outright if someone questions you about sensitive matters, and always tell the same lies. Keep it simple and consistent and people will believe you. Okay?"

She thought she had covered all _relevant_ potential questions already, but she gave him the opportunity to ask anyway. He had nothing to ask, though.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Now, you'd best get going. It wouldn't do to be excessively late one's first day of school."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am"

He bowed, hoisted his bag up to his shoulder, bolted out the door, and pulled it shut behind him.

A thought would catch up with her at moments like this, when she stopped for a moment and reflected upon what it was she was doing. Not what she was doing _right now_, obviously, which was nothing productive.

Sometimes, she caught herself thinking about what her work _meant_, in practical terms, for Shinji, and the others.

Feeling, actually, more than thinking. She'd been over this many, many times before. With humanity's collective back to the wall... there was no alternative to the pilots, whichever way one looked at it.

The sentiment was never swayed by her logic, though. It could, however, be put on the mental back-burner. Again.

It was only a matter of time before her in-tray was inundated again, but she didn't feel like waiting. She picked up the internal comm's telephone and dialled the operator. There was always more work to do, more work that could be done.


	5. Keeping Up Appearances

Chapter Five: _A Pretence_ - or, _Late to the Party_

* * *

><p>"Two days ago at 11:00 a.m., elements of the US 6th Fleet engaged a hostile entity which shall hereafter be referred to as an 'Angel' - just a name, nothing more. The <em>Angel<em> made landfall shortly thereafter and attacked elements of the US Marines, JSDF ground forces and the Red Army. It fought its way through them and advanced on New Tokyo. At 11:43 a.m. US forces used a tactical-grade enhanced-radiation nuclear weapon against the Angel and wounded it. However, it took advantage of the resultant confusion to advance further into urban areas, precluding the further use of nuclear weaponry. The Angel was finally destroyed in inner-city Tokyo by the combined efforts of Japanese and foreign forces. This victory was made possible by a revolutionary new weapons platform fielded by _Nerv_, the operators of which we have here with us today."

He motioned to the pair seated behind him and continued.

"No civilians were killed in the attack, though several dozen were injured and a few are still in hospital. On the other hand, military casualties were high; we do not have the full figures as of yet, but we expect them to run into the hundreds. The cost of the damage to infrastructure, property, businesses and military hardware is yet to be calculated in full, but we expect it to run into the tens of millions."

He folded up the papers and tucked them into a pocket of his suit jacket.

"We have with us Lieutenants Shinji Rokubungi and Mana Kirishima, the operators - or should I say _pilots _- of Nerv's _Evangelion-Series Synthetic Humanoids _Units Zero and One, who shall make a brief statement."

The suited man gestured with a flourish to the young couple, who stepped up to the podium. The young man pulled off his beret, tucking it under his arm, the girl hovering by his arm and standing at ease.

"Well, uh, I don't quite know what to say."

There was a small murmur of support and a couple of smiles flashed his way. He flashed them a small and slightly nervous grin of his own.

"On behalf of _Nerv_ I'd like to pay our respects to those brave servicemen who helped us take that thing, that _Angel_, down. We couldn't have done it without them, truly. We all owe them our lives. I'd just like to say, humanity is in this together now. We at Nerv will do our best, but we really need your support to win this. Just this one fight took a lot out of us. We need a lot more funding and a lot more personnel to keep this up. Mana?"

He stepped aside and let his companion stand before the microphones.

"Thank you, Shinji. I hope you can forgive me saying this, but I think that some good may yet come out of the Angel threat. I see no reason why we should fight each other when we have much _bigger_ problems to be worrying about. I think it would be a very poetic end to the Cold War if we were to overcome our differences and work together for humanity's survival. Thank you."

She stepped back and to the side, and he briefly re-took the podium.

"And I guess that's all we have to say. Hopefully we'll be seeing you again. Thank you for listening."

The two parted to let the suited man wrap things up.

"Thank you for coming, that will be the end of the conference, gentlemen. No further questions. Thank you."

A small handful of reporters, mostly foreigners, tried to shout in a few questions edgewise all the same. The trio just ignored them as they disappeared backstage.

Ten seconds of delayed live-action broadcast later, JSDF Chief Yamaguchi looked up from his papers just long enough to roll his eyes at the spectacle. '_Foreigners_.' He turned the television off and resumed his work.

At the back of the building, the trio were ushered into a waiting staff car. No sooner had the door been shut behind them than the convoy moved off. The tank at the front was a nice touch, Saito thought. He fumbled through his pockets for a cigar. Opening the case and popping one in his mouth, he belatedly remembered his companions, who had both ended up sitting across from him. He waved the open case in their general direction in offering. The young man motioned his refusal with one hand, slumping in his seat with a sullen look and staring out the tinted window. The girl took one gingerly. Out of courtesy he lit hers first, then sat back and took a long draw, sighing as he felt the rush of calm wash over him.

"Good stuff there. Hanging together, hanging separately... stirring stuff."

They couldn't have been more than... what, early twenties? They were both pretty young. The uniformed man shrugged, not even looking at him. The girl glanced over to Saito for a moment, then continued to ignore the both of them in favour of concentrating on the upholstery. To his surprise, the young man spoke.

"I think they bought it. Mister Saito, was it?"

He nodded. "It's not really _Rokubungi_, though, is it."

The young man shook his head and took off his beret again. He inspected the emblem on the side as if seeing it for the first time.

They motored along in relative silence. Saito shifted a little in his seat.

"One thing, though. If you're not the operators, then who are they?"

The young man shrugged and continued staring out the window. When he looked to the girl, she raised her shoulders up the slightest fraction and let them slump again in what was apparently a shrug.

"Not our department." she said, catching the portly politician by surprise.

"I heard one of them was a kid." 'Shinji Rokubungi' was giving her a sidelong look as he spoke. "Too young for the limelight, I heard."

She shrugged again. "Whatever. The way I see it, the less I know, the better. There's a thousand nut jobs out there who want to kill me now. That's all _I'm_ worried about."

Saito admitted there wasn't much he could say to that. Sure, he'd rubbed people the wrong way before - who hadn't, in his line of work - but this was something else. Anyway, there was no harm in rubbing these two the right way.

"True. But cheer up," the older man pointed out "at least you don't actually have to pilot the things. Hell, you get accommodation, three meals a day and a decent pay-cheque for looking pretty for the cameras and making a statement every once in a while. That's a pretty good deal if you ask me."

The atmosphere in the car warmed a touch. The young man stopped looking quite so sullen and sat a little straighter in his seat. The girl even gave Saito a full-on grin which didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Touché." said the girl.

* * *

><p>"And those are all the announcements for today. We have a..."<p>

The elderly Mister Mogi paused out of absence of mind and not any sense of dramatic effect.

"a _new student_ here with us today. Please, introduce yourself to the class, young man..."

He sort of trailed off and left the boy to it, moving to sit behind his desk.

The new kid looked up from under his hair and faced the class properly for the first time. His eyes were locked on the far wall and not than his fellow students. He went over the speech he had rehearsed endlessly in his head.

"Hu... hullo. I'm Shinji Katsuragi. It's a pleasure to meet you all."

He bowed.

Slowly fumbling for and feebly grasping the initiative, the elderly instructor spoke once more and pressed him to please be seated wheresoever he may be accomodated.

Since he was late and they were already well into the first class of the day, he tried to hurry to an available seat. There were none free at the front of the classroom and the mostly-vacant back was probably too far away to hear the teacher speak in his soft tones. The people sitting there didn't look very friendly either. There were a few seats free in the middle; he took the first such seat he came across as he headed straight down the isle.

As he unpacked and arranged his stationary, he snuck glances at the people around him on the sly. The glasses-wearing boy two seats to his right was flicking through photo albums... but generally, the people around him seemed fairly attentive and were poised to take notes. This was... modern history, the timetable said.

"There is going to be a test on Thursday. I want you to find dates for... find the dates _of_ each of these and memorise them. There will be a test on Thursday. The events are: The Indo-Pakistani War. The Suez Crisis. The Dardanelles Crisis. The Third Boer War. The Second Indo-Pakistani War. The Fortnight's War. The War of Congolese Independence..."

* * *

><p>A thought belatedly dawned on Mister Mogi when he saw young Mister Katsuragi re-entered the classroom alone, immersed in reading a little red book. Thankfully, the boy had to pass quite close by his desk as he entered - his voice wasn't what it was. He called out softly to the new student.<p>

"Ah, young Katsuragi..."

Shinji kept walking. Mogi frowned. He called again, as loudly as he could - which wasn't much louder, actually.

"Shinji Katsuragi."

The boy took a step further and froze. He whipped around to face the teacher, who looked more bemused than angry.

"Yes, you there, Katsuragi... come, come."

He edged over to the teacher's desk and stood clutching the book to his chest with an apprehensive look which was directed obliquely at a desk in the front row.

"I'm glad to see you take your studies seriously," he eyed the book's leather cover and the english title "but do try to pay more attention in the classroom, even if we're not in class. Now, we've already started work on our research projects for the term. Everyone has paired up and been issued their topics already, see, so I figured I'd put you with you with a pair that needs a little help. Have you met Mister Suzuhara, yet?"

Young Shinji shook his head.

"Hmm. He's a good runner, but he's not the sharpest tool in the head. Not back yet of course, but his partner... yes. You've met the Aida lad?"

Another head-shake.

"Ah. I know his father, good man... well, he's the lad with the glasses over there -" he made a vague, feeble waving notion with one hand to the boy who had been flipping through photo albums earlier "-always got a camera on him, that boy, like a tourist." He chuckled, clearly deriving humour from the thought of a young man carrying a camera with him to school.

Shinji waited in case the wizened figure had more to say.

"Ah, well, Aida and Suzuhara. Lazy, the both of them, but nice enough. An odd friendship, the pair of them. Don't get me wrong, they're good lads, but I expect they'll be needing your reading skills. Best get introducing yourself." he gestured with one hand to Aida again. "First impressions are always important, Katsuragi. Don't ever forget that, now."

Shinji took the way the grey-haired man turned back to his papers with renewed interest as a dismissal. He looked around for Aida again and spotted him sitting alone. The classroom was still pretty empty, so that wasn't saying much. Shinji pulled up a chair at the desk next to his.

"Mister Aida?"

The boy looked up from his albums.

"Ah, why if it isn't the new kid. Kata...?"

"Shinji Katsuragi. Mister Tosa said I'd be working with you for the project."

The kid nodded and maintained a carefully neutral expression.

"Okay. What're your grades like, Katsuragi?"

"They're okay..."

"What _are_ they, I mean?"

"'_A'_s, mostly..."

The bespectacled kid's remained stony-faced expression lingered. It cracked into a grin which broadened until he was practically smiling from ear to ear. He swiftly proffered a hand.

'What is it with young people and hand-shakes these days?' wondered Mister Mogi as the movement in the mostly-vacant classroom drew his eye. He completed his customary scan of his nominal domain and, looking to the clock and adjusting his reading glasses, turned back to his newspaper. After only a moment's hesitation spent staring at it, Shinji took the offered appendage and shook it. The new kid's face brightened almost imperceptibly as he sat down next to his new partner.

The classroom slowly filled up. The bell rang and the trickle of students became a flood. A tall, pissed-off-looking student droppped a notebook onto Aida's desk and sat directly behind him. Shinji noticed that the returned notebook had Aida's name on it. Had the tall guy been copying his notes...?

"Who're you?"

He was talking to Shinji.

"I'm..."

"-Our new project partner. He's an ace student, he says."

The tall guy was quite evidently relieved.

"I'm Shinji Katsuragi. Uh... what's your name?"

"Suzuhara. Touji Suzuhara."

Kensuke looked up.

"Oh, name's Kensuke. Kensuke Aida."

Suzuhara unpacked his bag as his friend introduced himself. His own notebook looked rather tatty and dog-eared.

Aida turned back to his friend. It was obvious something was bothering him.

"Something the matter, Touji? You look pretty... well... mad, all of a sudden."

"It's nothin'."

"Sure doesn't look like nothing."

"..."

"Realised you had homework?"

"... it's my sneakers. They've disappeared."

"Stolen!" A couple of heads turned, and Aida took it down a few notches. "Stolen?"

"I left my locker open. I mean, unlocked-like, and I swear they just _disappeared_."

Shinji was subtly and unpleasantly surprised. Theft wasn't unheard of, but in a school...?

"Stolen? That's pretty serious... you should report it."

"I mighta just lost 'em, though. Or someone coulda borrowed them. Takahashi's always 'borrowing' things. I oughta give him a piece of my mind, even if it ain't him."

Shinji picked up the pace of meticulously arranging his stationary in the lull.

"So, Katsuragi... where you from?"

He looked up to see Kensuke looking at him expectantly. "Uh... Matsushiro."

"You sure picked a hell of a time to move to Tokyo. Did you hear about the attack?"

"Yeah. Wasn't there a nuke or something?"

"Yeah." Kensuke continued "A neutron bomb. Pretty nasty stuff. There's a whole valley by the city outskirts which they've closed off for the next couple of months. They say the fallout's minimal, but I reckon it's a cover-up. And that's not all. Touji's dad here works for the city council, and he-"

"-thank you, Ken," He turned to Shinji "I wouldn't listen to what he has to say half the time. He reads too many comics. Like, too much science fiction, y'know."

Shinji gave a small, almost apologetic, smile. Touji frowned at his bandaged limb as if noticing it for the first time.

"Hey, what happened t'your arm?"

"Uh... I fell down some stairs..."

"Seriously? I ain't never heard of anyone who actually did that. I mean, you're the first guy I know broke anything _ac_tually falling down stairs..."

* * *

><p>He knocked twice. Nothing. Three times. He moved his head to listen at the door.<p>

"Miss Katsuragi? I'm making dinner..."

"Urrrgh... ehwhu... what?"

"I said, I'm making dinner for us tonight..."

"ahright, right... no, oh... thanks Shinji. Don' worry 'bout me. Issfine, I'm juss... I'm takin'a nap. I'll be... ah, wait, wait...Shinji?"

He hadn't moved, despite what she might have thought.

"Yes, Miss Katsuragi?"

"Misato...call me Misato. It's trash day tomorrow...recyclables in the green dumpster..."

"Yes, Misato." Shinji turned to go.

"Uh, wait, so... Shinji!"

"Yes?

"... how was school? Making friends? I hope you're settling in okay."

"It's... okay. I'm... doing okay. I think I made a couple of friends today..."

"Oh. Good! That's.. good. Just... uh... don't worry about making dinner for me. I'll just heat something up later. 'Nite, Shinji!"

"Goodnight, Miss... Misato."

'That came over too...' Misato groaned to herself '... forced. _Why am I so bad at this_? This is just... I'm just...'

She sighed and tried to pull the covers further over her head. It still wasn't dark enough yet with all the afternoon light filtering through the gap between the blinds and the wall. She was so tired she was vacant-headedly awake. Work was a bitch, alright.

'...he's just so... he's not _dif_ficult... I mean, he's more than earning his keep, it's just...' She sighed again. 'We're...'

Her thoughts settled. '_He's too much like me.'_

She gave a quiet, almost humourless chuckle. 'Been there before...'

An altogether too-vivid composite image flashed into her head and she groaned again. She'd promised Ritsu she wouldn't be doing anything suspect with _this _roommate. She hadn't told her straight away, of course - she'd wanted to see what her friend would say about it. When Ritsuko finally found out what she'd done, she had _stormed _into her office and...

'God, her face... her face!' Misato grinned from ear to ear '... and then she said...'

Shinji thought he heard a burst of laughter coming from Misato's room and he nearly cut himself. He couldn't help the feeling it had something to do with him. He just hoped Miss Katsuragi wasn't laughing at _him_...

* * *

><p>"Right... now keep it steady. Make sure they're all level, right? Okay, now hold it just... no, no, remember the... yep, like that. Okay, now slide it back into place... clip it... get the trigger group now... no, other way... yep. Firmly, now. Yep. Clip it... no, other side... now, the barrel group. Yer left. Yep, yep... counter-clockwise. <em>Counter<em>... yep. Magazine, now. Good. Now, yeh remember the procedure...? Good, good, very good. I see Kongo was wise to request those replicas. Alright, that's that. You're good to go. Now, let's see five rounds rapid from prone position. Ye'v' got ten seconds."

He hit the ground on his knees and did his best to lie the Eva down without jarring his arm too much. Sergeant-Major Kongo had told him that he'd broken mens' arms in just the same way Shinji'd broken his - apparently, Shinji hadn't taken it too badly by blacking out, if the others were anything to go by. Mister Kongo wasn't boasting when he said it, either. When he said he'd done things, then whatever they were, it was always just a statement. Mister Kongo was like that. He did his best to cradle the bullpup in the working hand of his bad arm, relying on the bipod for the most part, and sighted the rifle. It was probably fine as it was, but he reached up to adjust the ironsights-

"-Don't worry 'bout that for now, lad, yeh needn't be botherin' with it. Let's just get her working, first. 'esides, yeh'll need to be gettin' in close to be erodin' their eh,_ fields_ first, now, so I'm not sure ye'll even need to use 'em. I mean, I'm no _soldier, _but there's no need, y'know? This is the first time they've been assembled and fired since we got them from... what's this one, Nizny Novgorod again? They're all Austrian designs, anyway. Just yeh concentrate on putting lead downrange for now, right lad? Marksmanship can come later."

"Yes, sir."

"In yer own time."

Not_ 'botherin'_ to use the sights this time, he simply pointed the barrel at the nearest mound - one at the 500 metre mark - and began increasing pressure on the trigger. He remembered something and checked the fire selector - bursts, right?

"Burst fire, yep. Try semi first for a few rounds, then move on up."

"Yes, sir."

He really did notice everything. Shinji adjusted the selector then put his hand back on the grip and pulled the stock it into his shoulder. He could practically _feel_ the pressure of it, though technically there was no feedback mechanism to the shoulder region, only the hands and main limb sections. The Eva didn't _quite_ mimic his own posture when he tensed his shoulder for firing - the Eva always had a slightly uncanny slouch in it, a certain slack-muscled sloppiness to its movements that bothered him. It was like the Eva's heart just wasn't in it when he commanded it to move. He felt like a voodoo master playing with a giant puppet.

He gently increased the pressure on the trigger until the bullpup fired a round into first target downrange. The slug perforated the plastic-and-plasterboard target surface and buried itself in the loosely-packed dirt behind it. A few loose sods tumbled out of the hole.

"A'right, give us a burst now. Same target. In yer own time."

He flicked the selector back again and took aim once more. He increased the pressure and the rifle fired almost of its own will. There was a small, barely-noticeable cloud of dust from the target. It was too thin to really hide anything, but after a few seconds the neat trio of holes became apparent.

"Don't be worryin' about groupin's this time, lad. Lead on targets, lad, lead on targets. Or yeh could be trekkin' a good mile extra to pick up those slugs when ye'r' done. Now, let's try fully automatic. Check the chamber just in case, I forgot teh tell yeh. It's not likely, but... yep, good. Right, now let's see this. Short burst first, lad, then try a couple of longer ones after checkin' the chamber. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

There was no issue, the rifle worked just fine and he managed to get the next bursts on target with no trouble.

"Wait, hold up now. I want yeh to let loose until it goes 'click', a'right?"

"Yes, sir."

"He eased on the pressure and tried his best to hold the rifle steady. Despite his best efforts he thought the last couple of rounds might have gone off-target. It was over all too soon.

"Not very big, those magazines. We have bigger ones, don't yeh worry, and different types of ammunition. Now, what can yeh tell me about that last burst, lad?"

A question?

"Um..."

"Look at the target, lad. What d'yeh see?"

There was still a lot of dust in the air. What was he looking for, exactly?

"Um... I think I missed the last few shots...?"

"No, lad. Look _at_ the target. What can yeh tell me about the groupin'?"

The smoke was only just beginning to clear.

"Ah, ne'er mind. I meant, the dust, lad. Bad example, really, but if yeh use explosive rounds ye'r' goin' to see more than that. Well, a y'ed see less actually, ay, but more dust, yeh. Ah dinnae ken whether y'ell be fightin dust monsters or not - best not rule it out, ay - but certain things, when yeh shoot them, can kick up a fair amount o' dust. If yer shootin' all o'er the place on full automatic with explosive rounds, y'ev' got a recipe for zero visibility in the right conditions. Speakin' o' which - smoke launchers. Y'know how they work, right?"

"Uh... no?"

"Right, y'ev' got smoke launchers all o'er yer armour. Ah, wait... check the rifle first, eject the magazine and place it on the carriage first. Then get back t'where y'were, right?"

"Yes, sir."

He did as he was told, checking the rifle for blockages, taking out the magazine and engaging the giant safety block before laying it down on the weapons carriage. Next to it was his eva-transport carriage, which would take him - would take the Eva - back the cages when he was done here. He would be going home after all this. He returned to his position on the firing... plain? They had paved certain sections, though most of it was just weeds, grass and mud. There was room enough for maybe a dozen Eva at once. On the other side of the tracks was a large, mostly-flat field with a small lake in the middle of it. It must've been at least-

"Shinji? Don't space out on me now, lad. We've got things to be doing."

"Uh... sir. Yes, sir."

He turned around again and took a couple of steps back towards the range.

"Actually, lad, hold it. Wait just a second. I suppose yeh could do with stretchin' yer legs a little. Wait for the train to pass, then let's get yeh in that field. That's some good work ye'v' done there. Y'ev' got the makings of a mediocre soldier in yeh yet, I tell yeh."

The weapons carriage moved past him, picking up speed. Or, as Mister More would say, _acceleratin'_. It was the fifth of the day to do so. Leave for somewhere with a gun on it, that is, not _accelerate_. Hopefully there were more five trains running in all of New-Tokyo. He flexed his hand experimentally. Further synchronisation tests meant they had been able to cut down the feedback/response time by a few percent - a few percent of _what_, they-

"Shinji. Come on, lad, get with't ay."

"Sorry, sir."

He ambled onwards.

"Just anywhere will do. Just not in the lake. Maint'nance was _not_ happy about that mess the other day."

"Yes, sir."

The difference was only just noticeable. It wasn't quite as sluggish as when he'd first walked it back just four days ago. He thought it might have been more responsive than it had been _that night_ - which was a week ago, now.

"A'right... now, d'yeh know how to work yer gauntlets? Right... the button has a single oval with a dot in the centre. Found it?"

"...yes, sir."

"Good. Press it once, firmly."

For a second, nothing happened. Then every screen seemingly went blank as the Eva disappeared in a cloud of white-grey smoke which, from Shinji's perspective, darkened as the cloud spread outward.

"Now, try walkin' out of it. Take a look at it when y'hav'. Oh, y'might want t'switch t'infra-red. D'y'know how to...? Yes, good. I see ye'v' been reading the manuals. We'll get them all sorted into a definitive version one day, sorry 'bout the mix-ups."

It was a Sunday today, thankfully, so he didn't have to miss school today like he had on Friday. He'd called Aida on Misato's land-line tele-phone after he was done for the day - apparently he hadn't missed anything that wasn't in the books anyway. The home-work was pretty light this weekend, too.

"A'right, switch back and enjoy the view. Pretty, ain't it? Assuming those things _see _things the way we do, I'll bet this'll come in handy someday. I'll be givin' yeh the full manual for them later. We just took the launchers what they usually put on tanks and such and embedded them straight into the armour. A few extra cables here and there and that was it, really, we only got around to straightenin' it out last month, truth be told. This is the first time we've test-fired them all at once, actually. Right, now a certain Sergeant-Major has a bone to pick with yeh. Yeh'll need t'get used to throwin' yer weight around in that thing, he says. Ta-ta for now, lad."

"Goodbye, sir."

"Ikari." A statement.

"Good afternoon, sir." An acknowledgement.

A light breeze did something to shift and dissipate the smoke a little.

"We'll be practicing the same basic stances and movements. Get your knife out; you best get a good handle of the thing."

The afternoon proceeded much as it had the day before. Only this time, Mister Kongo wasn't here personally to step in and correct his posture, so he was hearing a lot more of his voice this time.

A few hours later, after running through every stance and movement a dozen times, falling over thrice - including once in the lake - assembling and test-firing another three rifles and a dedicated shooting practice with the last rifle and the revolver, it was time to go home. It had been a very long day.

"Sorry about that," said Miss Katsuragi as she shut the door behind him. She continued talking as she rounded the jeep, got in the driver's seat and started it up "it was Ritsuko's idea. She was very insistent that you make the most of today. She's giving you time off until Thursday night. She just wants you for a quick test, that's all."

Shinji buckled his seatbelt as they approached Misato's optimum driving speed.

"You don't say much, do you..."

Shinji seemed to give the thought due consideration.

"Maybe..."

The only sounds were the rush of the wind, the muted roar of the engine and the occasional screech of the brakes. And the occasional screech of other peoples' brakes, and the honk of their horns.

"Why aren't you wearing that wig I gave you? I mean, not right now, but I thought you liked it..."

After a good ten seconds of silence, she looked over to him. He was dozing already. A thin strand of drool trickled from the corner of his mouth. She wiped it off with one hand. He murmured something and shifted in his seat, his mouth properly closed now. She gave a faint smile and turned her attention back to the road.

* * *

><p>Many thanks to K.M. for being my emergency Beta.<p> 


	6. Damned Foreigners

Chapter Six: _An Insight _- or, _A New Appointment_

* * *

><p>"We are now in the tactical operations room, the nerve centre of Nerv, if you will. We have here with us a handsome young local man who is proud to be identified as Lieutenant Mako Ibuki. Mister Ibuki, it's a pleasure to see meet you, young man. Can you tell us about what you do here?"<p>

"Uh... well, I guess you could say I'm a manager." The Jap's accent wasn't too bad. 'Looks like we needn't have hired a translator in the first place,' Hardy reflected. The native spoke again in soft tones. "Please forgive my rough speech. I deal with command and communications here. This is my workplace."

He 'ahhhed' and 'hmmed' as appropriate when the young man spoke. He did it with everyone; it really did help get them talking. He asked in his native English "Don't be silly, you're English is _perfect_. Now, can you tell us a bit about your job here, at _Nerv_? Are you free to tell us, or will you have to shoot us?"

"Oh!" "Well, I guess you could say that if something happens with the computers... sorry, it is my job to just direct the flow of information in the room. That is to say, I deal with command and the - that the computers can, can deal with, then I'm... it's my job to handle the flow of information between command and the staff. I'm sorry, I'm not saying this very well."

You could almost hear the nervous grin in the young man's voice.

"Ah, no, no it's quite all right. So, these are computer interfaces, are they? I'm not seeing any punch-cards."

"Yes. I mean, no, we don't have any punch-cards up here, though we are still using them in accounts and personnel. Up here, we have direct-input hardware for maximum efficiency. But I'm afraid I can't tell you any more than that!"

"Haha, of course. So, getting back to your actually job here, you act as sort of a... a _liaison_ between the General and the staff?"

"Er, yes. I guess that's right. If command wants to know something, it's my job to ask the right people, and then my people bring up the data and calculate it or go through with consulting the relevant systems or departments or... yes. We, ah, we don't do that most of the time. We mostly compile all the data, all the relevant data, to build up a picture of what's happening at any given time."

"I suppose you keep all of Nerv's other automated systems running smoothly as well?"

"Er, no, that's Lieutenant Hyuuga's department. He co-ordinates maintenance and repairs to the Evas as well as to Nerv generally."

"I see, I see. I'm sorry if you've answered my question already, but you're actually something of a head of department, then? You hold a position of leadership, I mean."

"Er, well, I... not, not quite. There are heads of every department, and many of them gather here when there's a crisis, but we don't really have a department. We just... smooth things over, and translate orders into actions."

"I see. Hmm. Pretty important stuff, then. So what is it exactly we have around us here? There's a lot of very complicated machinery and electronics here."

"Ah, I'm, I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I can't tell you that..."

"Or else you'd really have to shoot us."

The little man gave a small and rather un-manly giggle, hiding his mouth behind his hand. He had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. '_Orientals_,' he thought, not unkindly.

"So, do you feel proud to work here, then?"

"Oh, yes! It's a great feeling, coming in to work every day, knowing you're working for the future of mankind."

'_Oh dear Lord in Heaven he actually means it._' He really did. Hardy knew the listeners didn't need to see him to tell the man had an expression of utter, upbeat conviction in his statement. He chuckled, more at the man's naivety than from sharing in his enthusiasm.

"Not everyone can say that of their job, that's true. Do you have a family to support? A wife waiting for you at home?"

Though it was hard to tell with orientals, Hardy would've bet his watch the man had just turned a magnificent shade of pink.

"Er... I... no, I, I'm not-"

"-Got your eye on anyone, then? Nerv has a lot of female personnel. I hear the tactical centre staff is almost half female."

The young man wasn't _flustered_ as such, but he had clearly not subscribed to the spirit of free love during _his_ time at university. Which was, by the looks of him, still only a couple of years ago.

"Yes that's, that's true, yes, we uh, do have a lot of, of female personnel here. They work very hard. We're glad to have them."

"I see. They're not stealing your jobs, then."

The young man giggled again. "No, no, nothing like that. We're glad to have them. They work very hard."

The younger generation of former university students was very liberal these days. There was a real possibility some of the older listeners might kick up a fuss at that. _Families to support_, _moral order of society_, etcetera. Personally he didn't really care one way or the other, but that's what people were interested in and it was one of the few things he could ask about. The rules had been very strict.

"Very well then, thank you, Mister Ibuki. It's been a pleasure. Thank you for your time."

"You're very welcome."

The tape ended. The sound technician stopped the recording and looked up expectantly. Hardy glanced over to the editor, who looked thoughtful.

"I thought it was okay. Should make for a good couple of sound-bites at least." He leaned back against the desk, arms folded across his chest. The technician sat sipping his coffee as Hardy thought carefully about how to phrase his next sentence.

"I'm not sure about the, uh, _human interest_ angle, though. It might be better to just stick with the basics."

"Hmm. Well, I'm biased, personally. I mean, if even the Japs' are doing it, then that's got to mean something right? The papers are already running with it."

"Nerv's hardly representative of Japanese business."

"Maybe. It doesn't really matter. This is just a program on Nerv and Eva, we're not trying to stir up a yellow peril lynch mob. Right?"

They still looked skeptical.

"It'll be fine. They're not going to hear this one, anyway, this program's for _our_ people to hear, not theirs. I say we just roll with it as is. Okay?"

Hardy shrugged. "I guess."

* * *

><p>He motioned to the armed guards, and they stood at attention on either side of the door. He liked that, having guards. They were very useful sometimes. He turned the knob, kicked the damned thing open and strode in. The secretary looked up and stopped herself from saying anything just in time. Giving her a snide grin, he strode through the room and kicked open the door to the office proper.<p>

Exactly five people could do this without her knowing about it first. She was rarely in when he was on-base, but he'd had reports that she used it far more often in his absence. Today he was not disappointed. She must have known it was him from the red green and gold of his coat, but she didn't look up.

He kept up his pace, filling her in-tray with his briefcase and cap as he rounded the desk. She tensed, her eyes tightening a little around the edges. A twinge in her neck betrayed her reaction. He came to a stop directly behind her.

"Another two weeks. That's what all of this means."

He rested his elbows on her shoulders, his hands on the top of her head, and his chin on his hands. He fiddled with her hair.

"Good thing, too. The boy hasn't got a Japanese bone in his body. I kept telling Kozo I wouldn't take a civilian but _no_."

He rested his head directly on hers, hugging her around the neck, and pulling her into a tight embrace.

"Ikari's staying on for another week. Rubbing elbows with the Lorenz group. Heard of them?"

She continued scanning the screen, operating the keyboard with one hand and writing shorthand notes with the other.

"High technology conglomerate. They work closely with the Second Branch. I wouldn't expect you to know that, of course."

He sniffed her hair, taking a moment to inhale deeply and savour her scent for a moment. He stood up and took his jacket off.

"Your inbox is in a good state. It's good to see you working for a change."

He moved to place his coat on the stand. She spoke in an even and neutral tone.

"Fuyutsuki's back."

He turned his head and slowed to a stop just short of the stand. His expression was sour as he stared at the back of her head.

"He wants something."

"He would like to see you. He said it was important."

Ishii scowled.

"Typical," he spat, putting his coat back on. "It's _always _important. What a joke. Kozo..."

He grabbed his cap and briefcase, half-oozing and half-storming out of the office/micro-lab. The door swung shut behind him with a reassuring thud.

Her eyes were so narrow they were practically shut. After a few seconds of silence, she stopped for a moment to inspect the page she had been writing on. The moment dragged on until it had stretched for an entire half-minute.

Ritsuko tore it and the next dozen pages below out of her notebook, crumpled them up and flung them into the waste-paper-bin.

* * *

><p>"Tovarisch Petrenko."<p>

They shook hands.

"It's a pleasure to meet face-to-face."

"Likewise. I'm sorry we didn't get the chance to exchange pleasantries properly until now." He noted where the communist's eyes had wandered.

"This is Miss Mana Kirishima. Say hullo, Mana."

"Hullo, Tovarisch Petrenko."

The Japanese wore a black and white three-piece suit, and Petrenko was in his grey and red dress uniform. Kirishima was the blue and white of a standard, sailor-suit style school uniform. But on her arm... he couldn't make out the characters from this angle, but he knew the blue-and-black of the National Protection Youth Corps armband when he saw it. Its presence was at odds with her attitude, however. If she held any disdain for communism she gave no sign of it. But, the Japanese were an obsessively polite race, so she may simply have been trying to be polite. But then again, why didn't Kozo have her take it off? It was meant to be a message, then. 'Don't try to ask her anything', perhaps? Not that he would have time alone with her anyway. It was possible he had just forgotten. But that would be unlike the Kozo Fuyutsuki he had heard about, to be so thoughtless.

"Hello there. A pleasure to meet you, young miss," he took her sickly pale, outstretched hand and kissed it lightly. Her other arm was in a cast. Despite her pallor and white hair she was almost certainly Japanese - he'd long since prided himself on being able to tell the difference between the asiatic races. He knew what albinism was, too, he'd read about it in a magazine once and remembered seeing the pictures. But something didn't add up.

"Those are some very interesting eyes you have, Miss Kirishima."

They were as red, red as freshly-spilt blood and as deep as the steppes were wide.

Fuyutsuki coughed. The foreigner caught himself staring and gave the girl a little smile before turning back to his host.

"Well then, there really isn't much to be said. You already know your way around _and_ you know how things work here, so I think we can just turn in for lunch. Unless there was something you particularly wanted to see?"

Pentrenko shook his head. "No, that is quite alright." He adjusted his glasses. "You said we might meet General Ishii for lunch? I do so love the rice wine here. Best part of being on the Far East station, I've always said."

"But of course. I have sent for him; he should be with us shortly. If you'll just follow me, we can have a meal brought to us in my office." He gestured to an aide. "And please, a good bottle of sake for our guest here."

The man gave a quick bow and then rushed off to tell the executive kitchens of the new development. The wizened oriental turned to the albino.

"Please, excuse us. We have some private matters to discuss. Run along now. I'll come get you later, okay?"

She nodded and then slipped away. Fuyutsuki couldn't help but noticing his guest sneaking a look at her as he turned to follow him.

"Is she yours?"

Kozo looked at him and smiled wrly.

"I wish."

The rest of the journey to the office passed in silence.

* * *

><p>"So you're getting on just fine with him then?"<p>

"Yeah, I guess."

The electric train hummed on, a quiet patch of light in the darkness.

"Not giving you any trouble, is he?"

"No. The reports weren't far off, I guess."

The faux-blonde tapped her cigarette, letting the ash fall to the well-worn floor.

"Hmm. Well, reports aren't everything. I remember reading he's supposed to be quite the antisocial young man, but he seems to have made friends just fine."

"Hmm..."

The car swayed from side to side for a few moments as it passed over a badly-put-together section of track. There was a brief screech of metal on metal.

"They're not close though. It's only week three so maybe it's too soon to be saying this, but I don't think they do anything together except work on that project. And that's just in school hours. He's been at the gates at four like clockwork."

"Trust today's kids to know the guiding principles of pragmatism. You can always trust a human being to appreciate another's usefulness to themselves."

"Heh. You always were a cynical bitch."

"I'm not suggesting everyone sees things that way, I'm just positing that they have the capacity for it, if not an actualised inclination."

Ritsuko dropped the remains of her cigarette and crushed it underfoot.

"You still use too many big words."

"You know too few."

"You smoke way too much."

"So do you."

"But I only smoke when—"

"Exactly."

"And what's wrong with that?"

"Nothing."

"You're just jealous."

"Uh-huh. It's _envious_. And I'm not en—"

"How long's it been? Be honest. Two, three years?"

"Let's not go into that."

"Wait…have you actually seen _anybody _since college? You haven't, have you? Don't tell me... a-ha! You're going red! Don't think I can't tell."

Ritsuko scowled down at her watch at the sound of Misato's sing-song tones. Misato had always been good at reading her. She was one of the few that could consistently. But even she wasn't spot-on. No one was.

"Ah, we should go out again sometime. How's this weekend?"

"I'm busy. And you shouldn't even be thinking about drinking this weekend."

"Eh?"

Ritsuko looked long and hard at her old roommate. Then she gave up. She still couldn't tell.

"I don't suppose the words '_Live-Fire Exercise_' mean anything to you?"

Misato shifted in her seat.

"Well..."

"What? You just happened to forget the largest live-fire exercise we've had for—"

"—two weeks? I still don't get why you asked for that one."

"Press. Didn't you wonder where the pictures came from?"

"I don't read the papers."

"You should. Radio isn't enough these days."

"Hey, I watch television!"

"That tripe doesn't count. Seriously, though, are we ready for Saturday?"

"Pretty much. It's just Shinji I'm worried about. Kongo tells me he just doesn't _get_ it."

A raised eyebrow.

"He follows orders, though, doesn't he?"

"Well, yeah. He just... he doesn't _think_ about them, you know?"

"Enlighten me."

"Okay. It's like last Sunday. He's in the middle of a practice shoot. I tell him to consider the lake an Angel, his new target. So he just stands up and unloads the whole magazine into it firing from the hip."

"I'm guessing that's foolish."

"Yeah."

"...well, I'm guessing your man chewed him out for it."

"Yeah. But he does it all the time. He doesn't do _any_thing unless you tell him to. It's like he can't think for himself. He just seems like... he's fragile, you know? It's like he's just holding on by a thread. I'm just worried that if anything weird happens, he might mess up, panic. Even Kongo might not be enough to stop him from doing something stupid."

Ritsuko mulled it over for a while and then shrugged.

"You're a good officer, and he's a good sergeant. That should be more than enough to keep him in check." She checked her watch again for what seemed like the hundredth time. "This is my stop." she announced. A few seconds later, the train began to de-accelerate with a muted screech.

'How does she know?' Someone in the mostly-empty car coughed. Misato realised she didn't actually know what she meant by that question; Ritsuko had no military training to speak of, she had barely met Shinji or the sergeant. And there was no way anyone could, or _would_, time the trains in this place so perfectly. Could they? Well, if there was a way... '...she would. She _really_ would.'

Ritsuko gave her a small, knowing grin as she picked up her briefcase, tapping her wrist-watch. She half-shouted over the sound of the brakes. "I _use _my watch. You'd do well to start doing the same." They came to a complete stop, and Ritsuko opened the door. Misato gave her a little wave and the scientist turned to go.

* * *

><p>AN: You're a good man, S.B. Thanks corecting for again mai spellling and gramre.


	7. Failure, again

Chapter Seven: _A Monster_ - or, _Parental Figures_

* * *

><p>"Steady."<p>

"Yes, sir."

From the JSDF's no.3 firebase on the _Gora_ defence line, he had a good view of the unfolding action. The 'firebase' itself was little more than a series of ditches, holes, and sandbag walls. A few dozen men nervously crowded around the handful of mountain guns, mortars, a rocket artillery piece, and obsolete anti-aircraft cannons housed within. He remembered them—the AA guns—from his time in the marines; they had to be aimed and fired _manually_, they were that old. They'd never quite got around to scrapping them but didn't have the money to upgrade them either. So they'd just sat around for a couple of decades gathering dust until last week when someone came up with the bright idea of pressing them into service again, even if they didn't actually make the ammunition they used anymore, or have spare parts for them, or have anyone in the lower ranks who actually remembered how to use them. Them being here just reeked of a _political_ decision. Not the good kind of political, that is, like in the good old days when the politicians had let the military make the decisions, for once, and not the other way around.

The ground self-defence force 'garrison' was keeping quiet for now, nervously awaiting Katsuragi's order to engage. This Angel had yet to show interest in anything other than the Eva, but now that it had since slowed down and cut a bee-line for it, they feared the Angel's attitude would change. Fear was heavy in the air. _Godzilla_ was still too fresh in their minds, the silly bastards. Kongo allowed himself the luxury of rolling his eyes at their lack of discipline. The younger generation was too soft to ever make proper soldiers.

The Angel approached at a leisurely pace. It slowed and came to a halt in mid-air a few hundred yards away, rearing its head upwards and bending its front half to the sky to reveal a dozen spindly, writhing legs which looked like a cross between an crab's and a centipede's. As he watched, a pair of tentacles unfurled from within its carapace and waved about menacingly. In the midst of all those waving limbs, on its underside at the top of something that looked like an open ribcage in its belly was a giant red orb.

"You see the core?"

"Yes, sir."

"Forget centre of mass. Aim for the core. One burst in your own time."

"Sir."

He slowly increased pressure on the trigger and tried to ignore the deeply unsettling motions the Angel was making with its insect-like appendages. Before he knew it, the rifle had fired. As he lifted his finger, the shells detonated against the Angel's fleshy carapace and there was a pregnant pause.

It seemed taken aback and reared up a little further, pausing as if to think. It was unharmed. Katsuragi continued to hold her tongue; she'd promised to leave the boy to him, and so far she'd been so kind as to keep her word. The last thing he needed was an inexperienced officer trying to micromanage everything.

"Charge it."

"Sir?"

"The Angel. Attack it." 'It' had pressed forward again, advancing on Eva Unit 01 with its tentacles held up and ready to strike.

"I...but—"

"_Do it_."

"I..."

"There is no other way. Ready your combat knife."

"I..."

"_Do it._"

He groped around for the knife and undid the strap holding it in the sheath. As he did so, the sergeant kept talking.

"It's just like the old days. Remember your battle cry, and scream it with pride."

He gave the rifle one last squeeze. The Angel loomed large in his vision. He shifted his grip like he'd been shown and levelled the bayonet right at its heart. He gave the rifle another last squeeze.

"Now, _charge_."

A high whistling sound, made by the sergeant blowing a whistle straight into the receiver, flooded his ears. He sprinted at the alien blade-first, screaming glory to the Emperor, the Japanese Nation, and humanity itself.

A crooked half-grin spread across half the face of his sole listener, a grizzled and heavyset man in his forties.

The Angel sliced clean through the rifle using its whip-tentacles, which seemed to have some very special properties. Where it touched the Eva, the dull blacks and purples of its armour melted away in streams, cutting right down to its flesh in one spot.

Yes, flesh. He knew what an Eva _was_, he had seen it. Whether he was any better off for knowing, he didn't know. The boy was hesitating. The Angel had cut his umbilical and thrown him aside. He spoke quietly and deliberately into the receiver.

"_Knife._"

"Sir..."

The boy sounded a bit shaken which was to be expected. As he watched, the kid slipped his knife out and held it in the reverse-grip he'd been taught.

"Use forward grip. Check the remaining activation time."

He did as he was told, turning the knife over in his hands to hold it with the blade upwards. "I...I have thirty seconds at full."

"Not enough. The umbilical station will send up green smoke. Look for it."

He reached for the radio-telephone with the green tape around the receiver and just got it to his ear when he noticed Unit 01 moving towards the Angel. The boy picked up his war cry as he charged a second time, screaming his lungs out for the people of Japan.

'Twice in a row. The militia would have loved this kid back then.'

He shook his head. "Kill it. If you fail, it will be the least of your worries."

He let the receiver fall and raised his binoculars to get a better view of the action. As he watched, the Angel managed to impale Unit 01 on both of its tentacles and lift it off the ground to throw it, but the Eva was too heavy. It started trying to tear the Eva's guts out with a sort of sideways motion, but that was when the Eva powered on through its impalement and stabbed it again and again.

There was nothing even remotely human about the creature, but Kongo could have sworn it let out a screech of terror as it realised that its gamble had failed. The Eva couldn't feel pain like it could and the Angel desperately tried to withdraw its tentacles as it realised the limitations of their cutting power. It was distracted by the pain of the Eva ripping off and stabbing through its spindly under-limbs as they flailed around trying to protect its core. All the while it let out deafening and unearthly keening, a screeching wail which made one's hair stand on end. The creature reared up and flailed around in agony before collapsing right on top of the Eva. Kongo gave a small cringe with one eye.

The Angel's carcass hadn't quite settled when it slumped a little to one side, probably due more to the smooth, cylindrical nature of its carapace than the boy's exertions as Unit 01 tried to shift the fleshy bulk of its vanquished foe. Kongo darted for the receiver of the radio-telephone with the purple tape around the receiver. It was hanging loose over the edge of the desk, dangling by the cord. He reeled in the line and lifted it to his ear and was about to order the stupid boy to stop struggling and preserve his scarce power when the Evangelion powered down mid-struggle, its limbs quietly slumped into the mud and scraggly grass. He paused with the receiver to his ear and eyed it before placing it back in the cradle with care.

He worked the figures in his head. He ignored the ragged cheer that went up around him as he picked up the receiver with the _white_ tape on it in a single swift movement. Then he thought again and put it down just as quickly. Katsuragi would have taken care of it already. He would have to stick around until they recovered the Eva, which would be _very_ tricky. It would take about ten hours, maybe, before they had it back in the cages. Everyone could go home just in time for supper. That was time enough for a nap. The early start hadn't agreed with him. He wasn't as young and adaptable as he used to be.

He smirked without really knowing why. Perhaps he found the thought of being old and inflexible amusing for a man of his unique constitution, disposition, and occupation? He pulled his cap down over his eyes as he slouched down against the stack of crates.

'Another job well done.'

* * *

><p>"You disobeyed my orders."<p>

It was a statement of fact.

"Yes."

... But the boy was feeling smart.

"You understand how the chain of command works."

"Yes."

Another exchange of statements. The boy remained sitting, hunched over his drink on the bench. The air smelled of bleach and soap. There was a faint hint of sweat and feet. It smelled just like the under-used mens' toilet/shower block, which was what it happened to be. The standing man and the sitting boy were the only people in it. The air was warm, but the atmosphere was cold. The boy emanated a barely-concealed resentment. The man radiated dispassionate fury restricted by the disciplined force of will.

"Justify your insubordination."

A pause.

"We won."

Something about the way he said it reminded him of the aftermath of the Jewel Voice broadcast, in the way it completely lacked energy, enthusiasm, inflection, interest... everything. The passage of time made it likely that was all the boy had meant to say.

"Clarify."

"We won, didn't we? Isn't that all that matters?"

"...Perhaps. But where is your national spirit? Don't you have pride in our victory?"

Another pause. He had to admit it was possible the kid didn't understand what he was dealing with. He hadn't disciplined him before, and some kids these days led pretty sheltered lives. Well, some kids any day. Kongo just assumed the boy knew what was coming if he pissed him—his superior—off.

"No, sir, but I'll do what you tell me to. That's all that matters, isn't it?"

He seized the boy by the throat, causing him to drop his tea. The mug shattered on the tiled floor. The boy kept his gaze averted as the man stared into his face with an impassive expression, forcing his chin so he would face him. Hmm. You couldn't _make_ someone meet your eyes, but you could _encourage_ them.

"Look at me."

The boy's eyes shifted a little, but the pathetic little nancy-boy was still ignoring him. No, wait. No no no... the boy_ was_ paying attention. He could tell. He wasn't just some petty thug beating on some kid for his lunch money, he was the boy's instructor and he was trying to to be instruction_al_ here.

"The General doesn't want broken bones or torn muscles. Everything else..." He casually knocked the wind out of the boy with a palm-blow from his free hand and slamming him into the row of lockers. He then kneed the kid in the groin and tightened his grip on his throat. "…is acceptable in the name of teaching you a lesson. I am _not_ Miss Bleeding-Heart Katsuragi. I have beaten a hundred men to within an inch of their lives. Disobey me again and I will show you what I learned from them."

He let the kid slump against the lockers. He didn't look too bad, so he gave him a quick sock in the face which brought him down to the ground, almost. He finished off with an admittedly sloppy kick in the gut that took the boy off his knees and onto the ground proper. When the boy shifted to cover his head with his hands he left a few flecks of blood on the tiles. It must've been from the mug. Ceramics were dangerous when they shattered. Ceramics and glass. Lots of sharp bits. You could really cut people badly with them.

He had considered praising the boy's bravery _before_ reprimanding him for his disobedience, but that might give him the wrong idea. The last thing he needed now was initiative. Kongo would always be there to tell him what to do, so it was just an unnecessary complication. The boy's 'bravery' was just a kind of suicidal bravado born of fear. Reckless courage out of pants-wetting terror. He'd seen it before. Men like that—_boys _like that—were practically useless. Sure they had their moments, but if they didn't get killed right then they just as often wimped out right after and were practically useless after that. Courage was an extension of discipline, and if there was one thing the boy needed to learn, it was discipline. To be perfectly honest, it wasn't enough to just get the kid to obey; he really needed to _break_ the boy before he could make him into a soldier. A _real_ soldier. He could have his pride when it came from serving the nation, from being a soldier of the emperor. This boy was living the dream! He served Japan, he served the Emperor, he served _the entire world_... and all he wanted was for daddy to love him. Well fuck that. And fuck _him_.

He'd been kind of lost in his thoughts and had apparently been hitting the boy while he was on the ground. He stopped for a bit, standing up to take in the sight of the little brat curled up in a tight little ball and whimpering softly. Pathetic. There were bruises on the boy's raised arms. Lesson learned. The boy looked just fine, but Kongo couldn't let himself go like that again. He could've broken something by accident. Discipline—_disciplining_—had to be a matter of cold calculation. He didn't _enjoy_ it, discipline, but it was necessary. Discipline was necessary_,_ but it should never be enjoyed or indulged in. He'd known the men who served for the emperor, and he'd never had difficulty in telling apart the ones who just enjoyed inflicting pain. He'd always hated them—the psychos and the sadists—but they had to be there to make up the numbers. All you could do was try to limit the damage they did. If he'd had _his _way, he would have found a way to do without them. But there was no other way, and the number of needless disciplinary actions was far higher than it should have been.

He'd been standing there for a long time now. It suddenly struck him that he was very tired. He was getting old. The nap hadn't been enough; late nights and early mornings just took more out of him these days. As he looked down at the boy he almost felt a twinge of regret. Almost. But then he remembered what had to be done. _This_ had to be done. Still, there was more to be said. He lifted the trembling boy bodily off the floor and placed him on the bench. He stepped back to watch the continued trembling. He was conscious. That was usually a good start. Now for the moral of the story.

"You are a soldier of the Japanese people and a warrior of the Emperor. When you fight for us the entire national spirit moves through you and with you. There is no room for disobedience. You _will_ obey, and you _will_ be happy to serve."

There was a faint sound of water dripping. The humidity had subsided a little. The boy's voice was so soft that Shinji himself —after getting over the shock of realising he'd spoken back _again_—wasn't sure he'd heard it.

"Or what, you'll beat me until I'm patriotic?"

Kongo now suddenly became aware of how loud it was, the dripping echoing through the silence. His head was quiet for a good many seconds as the sound of the dripping dominated his thoughts. From the blankness a saying came to mind, an adage from the old days. 'The beatings will continue until morale improves.' The slight grin he hadn't realised he was sporting grew, and then he laughed without quite meaning to. He brought himself back under control and briefly placed a hand on the kid's shoulder.

"In the future, obey. Pride comes from obedience, not defiance. Be a proud soldier of the Japan Race, not a self-righteous rebel. It is better to die for the _Emperor-_" he dragged the word out, speaking it with a degree of hushed reverence "-than to live for yourself."

The boy said nothing. He hadn't quite stopped trembling, and he apparently didn't dare raise his head despite his superior's soft words. As he looked down at the boy, he found himself thinking about how the boy's neck was thin. So _very_ thin. He could snap it easily. It would be just so _easy_. He could do it.

"Sunday, eighth hour of the clock. We'll be doing more extra-vehicular training."

He left. The whump of his boots on the tiles was the only sound other sound in the room. The only sound other than the dripping.

After a minute spent silent and unmoving, the boy began to cry.

* * *

><p>Misato Katsuragi knocked on Shinji's bedroom door, picking sleep from the corners of her eyes with her other hand.<p>

Shinji had asked her to go on ahead and get some rest at home, and she'd been glad to arrange for a jeep to take him back and finally get some sleep. She'd had just enough presence of mind to rummage around and pour a few cans of something she hoped was stew—though she knew she'd poured in a tin of spaghetti by accident—into a pot with water and potatoes and put the whole thing in the oven before she collapsed onto her western-style couch. The mixture smelled a little burnt now. She'd slept longer than she meant. To. Longer than she'd meant _to_... She'd brought it out and had a look at it, and it didn't look _too_ bad... as long as they didn't eat the black stuff that had congealed at the bottom and was staying firmly stuck to the sides it should taste okay. There was still some rice in the refrigerator they could pour it over...

"Shinji?" she knocked on the door twice.

Nothing. She knocked again.

She turned the handle and went in. The window was shut, the bed was made, and the room was clean. Everything appeared to be in its place, everything except his backpack and his coat. She sighed. She felt sorry for him. She really did. But she didn't need this right now. Security should know where he was even if they didn't felt like telling her.

She walked back to the kitchen to use the telephone. Flipping through her Nerv address book, she dialled the number for Nerv-4's security detail. She had no idea why the other three numbers were even listed. She cursed the resistance of the rotary dial, reminding herself to grease it or get a push-button phone or _something_.

To cut a long story short, she finally managed to get in touch with someone who actually knew about Shinji. That is, about where he _was_. Not about, you know, who... eh, bah. She was tired, okay?

"Where? Uh... well, he's...sorry. He hasn't left the block."

"What?"

"He's just sorta sitting in fronta the door. Been there for a while now. Hasn't moved."

He never came home late. He didn't do anything outside of school and, though she'd only been there to welcome him back on two days of the month they'd been together as "cousins," he'd always come home at five.

"I see. Thank you."

She started ghosting over to the front door then stopped for a brief moment, just to run through what she had to say, before resuming her cat-like tread. She opened the door to reveal him sitting on the 'Welcome!' mat and hugging his legs to his chest. He had his backpack on.

"What are you doing here?"

A solitary cicada crik-crikked under the far-off street lamp below. The only other light was a dim glow from the stairwell and the feeble glow of the crescent moon.

"I was going to run away."

She moved to sit down next to him. There wasn't _quite_ enough room; it was a very tight fit. He didn't move to give her space.

"Then why are you still here?"

He continued to stare at the floor.

"Why bother? They know where I am. They'd just take me straight back here, wouldn't they?"

She could tell he hadn't really thought it through, the running away. He was still wearing his school uniform for goodness sake. She wondered how far he had gotten before he turned back or if he had even gone anywhere at all.

"Yes. They would."

"I can't leave, can I?"

"No." Ach. Just saying 'no' on its own was a bit harsh. "I'm sorry, Shinji."

"No, you're not."

There was a deafening silence. The cicada had fallen silent at some point, as if too interested in what exactly she had to say. The moon dimmed as a scraggly cloud passed quickly over its face, and the leaves on a solitary tree rustled almost imperceptibly under the auspices of the slightest of gusts.

"No, I am sorry. And I'm sorry for not being around more, Shinji. I know I said I'd take care of you, but it's like _you_'ve ended up taking care of _me_ a lot of the time_._ It's just…it's just so hard to keep irregular hours like this, you know? It's been good having you around. Heh. I haven't ever had anyone I could even begin to call family before. I just wish I could do more for you. It's not easy with the kind of hours I have."

The cicada had resumed its song as if signalling that it was uninterested in their affairs after all. The street-light flickered again for a few seconds before resolving to continue illuminating the under-used road. She took a gamble. At his age, when she was in the orphanage, what she'd cherished more than anything was the feeling of having some kind of control over her life. _Some_ kind of choice. Even if the choice of alternatives made for only one real path to take, a genuine choice that didn't involve shooting yourself in the foot just for the sake of the illusion of control. The next thing after that had been the feeling of family, of belonging. She missed that feeling. She didn't want to let go of the next best thing she had to it, to re-capturing that feeling. But she had to remind him that he had a choice.

"You don't have to stay with me, you know. But you will have to stay on base if you move out. Even if you don't want to pilot, you'll still have to do it until we find other pilots and can afford to put you into reserve. Even then, we'll still want you within the city, but you don't have to stay here if you don't want to."

They both continued staring forward. He stared at the floor and she stared at the wood of the railing. Misato realised she had no idea how to wrap this kind of conversation up. Trying to dispel it with her usual near-flirtatious charm and cheer could backfire horribly. As the seconds turned into minutes, or seemed to turn into minutes, the ticking of her wrist-watch become unbearably loud and she decided to break the silence with something. _Anything_. He surprised her by being the first to speak in a voice so soft it was below a whisper.

"I... I don't want to _leave_..."

Misato wasn't sure whether or not she'd imagined it, him saying that, and she wasn't quite sure what to make of it if she hadn't. A minute passed with nothing more said.

She put her arms around him and drew him into a hug. He winced a little, like it pained him, and his first instinct seemed to be to push her away. He didn't though. She loosed her grip a little but didn't let go. He remained tense and she heard his feet shift a little. He hugged himself tighter.

Misato's gaze fixed on a passing cloud, which she watched amble from one side of the balcony all the way to the other and disappear behind the wall.

He had relaxed a little, but it was clear she was making him uncomfortable by his proximity. That was about as good as she figured she'd get from him. She let him go and stood up, back in provider mode.

"I think dinner's a little more ready than usual. Hungry?" She offered him a hand up. She was sure he'd noticed the movement but, still, he hesitated.

Another agonisingly long moment spent staring at her hand—as if he'd never seen anyone offer a helping hand before—ended another half-cloud pass later when he reached out to take it. As he got to his feet, she looked up from inspecting the marks on his hands and forearms to meet his eyes. He managed to pull a kind of sheepish smile for her, though it didn't _quite_ reach his eyes. She gave him a little grin back, one that thankfully gave off more concern and care than exasperation and irritation, though it was possible that he had only imagined it. _Which_ things he might have just imagined, the good ones or the bad, he didn't quite know. He followed her in, shutting the door behind them.

* * *

><p>In a dark and featureless room, there was a bizarre spectacle. A man stood at attention on the inside of the soundproofed door. The only other man sat at a desk, one of a dozen arranged in a circle which dominated the small room. On every desk but his there sat a microphone and a speaker, their cables trailing off into the shadowy recesses of the room. The voice identified as 'One' spoke in a deep, modulated tone.<p>

"All is proceeding as we have foreseen."

"So it would seem."

The seated man spoke. "Evangelion Unit 00 will soon be re-activated. It will prove necessary for the defeat of the next Angel."

"A truly impressive organism."

"Indeed. It is among the most powerful of the rejection-type."

"Even the Americans' nuclear arsenal may prove insufficient."

"Perhaps. You underestimate the power of nuclear weaponry."

"That is as may be. What of the...artefact?"

The man spoke again. "The work has been sped up, but it will be many months before it arrives."

"I see. Thank you, Two. Eight, how goes the procurement program?"

"More Russian armour and artillery arrive every day. Their expeditionary force has been reinforced to full strength again. They are building up a surplus of arms here in anticipation of our invitation for them to expand their involvement."

"Excellent. The Americans, Five?"

"The marine detachment is still understrength. The British flotilla is moored in New Osaka for now, but they should be present for the engagement with the next Angel. The Americans are pulling their heavier ships to us in ones and twos, the older gun-armed types. They aren't willing to shift smaller ships of the newer constructions from submarine screening."

"What of our own procurement program, Seven?"

"The Western arms companies are stalling on selling us the anti-aircraft weaponry we need. They say they have a back-log of orders and need government approval. The Americans keep saying that it is unnecessary and that _they_ will provide us with air-cover we need, but they do approve of the expansion of our army."

'One' spoke again. "Army. _Our Army_. How good it feels to use that word again. It's almost like old times. What progress on Article Nine, Nine?"

"The mood's not quite right. Defence spending's in the last month, et's up teh ten per-cent o' total spendin' an' should double by year's end. That said, we are still workin' from an unusually small base. It's prob'ly best we wait until the aftermath of the next encounter. If we throw Nerv behind the motion then, I have no doubt we'll get it through. There's a lot o' folk as feel we're at war already."

"A war for the preservation of the honour and the persons of humanity's first-born people. We are righteous indeed."

There was a brief pause.

"Are there any other issues that require our immediate attention?"

The muted hum of the electrical equipment was the only sound. 'One' continued.

"Then, let me say that the Emperor him_self_ has given our cause his blessing. With his patronage, we cannot fail. For his Imperial majesty!"

"May he live forever!" they echoed.

The room lapsed into silence again. The man by the door helped 'Two' into his Coat, and opened the door for him as he left. The uniformed men standing guard outside the room followed behind him on either side as he strode down the corridor and outside to the waiting armoured transport. He liked having an escort. It reaffirmed who was in charge around here: him.

* * *

><p>To you, S.B., I give my continued thanks.<p> 


	8. Help from Above

Chapter Eight: _An_ _Inquiry_, or, (_Un?)welcome Interference_

* * *

><p>She remembered to check over her shoulder this time, and backed them out with what passed for caution in her books before slamming the brakes and changing gears. Turning the radio on and pressing the accelerator to the floor, she glanced to one side to check on her charge as the American rock music blared from the speakers.<p>

He turned his hands over in his lap, inspecting his palms with a sort of resigned disinterest. She hadn't had the time to find out how he'd got them, but she could guess. She looked to his bad arm. They'd cut open his cast and pumped him full of painkillers and stimulants for the fight, but they'd put it right back on afterwards. But it was other arm, which was bruised, and his hands that she was interested in. Someone had to have applied those sticking plasters. Those things weren't cheap. _Someone_ knew why he'd needed them. It was a cold day and one of those huge tropical storms was brewing. She noted the wall of grey and green ahead of her and braked just in time, bringing them to a stop just yards from a convoy of motor-trucks ploughing through the intersection. There were still a few dozen to pass. The music was replaced by static as Shinji tuned the radio. She _had_ said he was welcome to change it unless she said otherwise, even if he hadn't taken her up on it very often. She didn't have much of a taste in music, though she liked it loud and catchy. He only listened to the one channel himself.

"-of Mongolia was present, as was President Zhang of Manchuria. President Wei-Kuo has formally offered Japan support in the form of the NRA's 4th Battalion of Engineers. Defence Minister Fujiwara was not available for comment, but a source within the ministry claims that he is opposed to accepting Chinese support in any capacity. Despite flagging support for the war through much of the first world, the latest victory over the invaders has galvanised a measure of popular support for the war within Japan. An overnight poll places domestic approval of the conflict at 34%, which is more than can be said for the incumbent government. The Liberal-National coalition has today introduced a new re-armament bill to the House of Councillors, saying that Japan needs to take charge of her own defence. The Japanese Communist Party has branded the bill 'unconstitutional and unnecessary', saying that Japan's defence is best left to the Grand Alliance. With a coalition majority in both houses the bill is set to pass in short order if the whips are able to enforce voting on this delicate issue. You're listening to the BBC's East Asian broadcast service."

The fanfare played and faded, ushering in some light-hearted orchestral music - a waltz? - that seemed at odds with their bustling martial surroundings. A trio of gunships approached them from behind and overtook them, drowning out everything but the throttle of the engine.

Misato felt she should say something, but there was no point. She couldn't promise him anything. She couldn't even promise him that she would still be there for him at the end of today. It wasn't likely and she hoped it wouldn't happen, but the way Nerv worked you just couldn't be sure. She couldn't _promise_ him that everything was going to be alright now and that she would terrorise engineering and ride them roughshod until they had worked out every last fault in that _bloody stupid _control system... but she'd give it damn good go. His well-being was_ her_ responsibility, it said so right there on the papers. And, she noted after a brief twinge of the moral heartstrings and a quick glance his way, it was just the right thing to do.

All the while, he just fiddled with his hands and stared ahead without quite seeing what was really there.

* * *

><p>"So that's it, huh?"<p>

"Yeah. Don't seem like such a big deal now."

The trio stood looking at the cardboard box with the slit cut in the top. It was marked 'Assignments', and it now had a few pieces of paper representing maybe a week of their lives in it. Someone walked behind and past them, blocking the morning sun as they went. They wore the standard school uniform in sizes too big for them. A private school kid would have noted the poor quality of the machining – the way the seams didn't quite match up and the look of the weave, which was of a rather rough consistency – and perhaps more importantly, the fact that only the clothes of the boy with the little red book in his top pocket had been ironed.

"Thanks, Katsuragi. We couldn't have done it without you."

"Thanks. You're welcome."

Katsuragi still wasn't looking at Aida or Suzuhara, even though he was now quite clearly the focus of their attention. The bespectacled kid shifted from one foot to another and shared a meaningful glance with the taller boy. Even after all this time, it was hard to tell if Katsuragi was really being sincere or not. He wasn't _rude_; he said please and thank you and sorry – he said sorry _a lot_ – but he never actually looked at you when he said it. No eye contact, that was the preserve of foreigners, but he didn't look at your face. His eyes were always below it, looking at the floor or your belt or your arm or something below face level. He was quiet, but you couldn't help the feeling he was, however polite, insincere. For example, when Touji asked Katsuragi why he'd need them to cover for some of his work over the weekend, he'd fidgeted with his hands and said something about his dad taking him to the institute in the morning and how he got stuck in the bomb shelter. Then the military blocked off all the highways back into the city so he missed a whole day to work. Sure, it was a believable enough story. But the way his hands squirmed around screamed deception. If he had taken the day off, he could've just said so. Okay, they would've been pissed at him if he really just came out and said that. But Kensuke knew they were both thinking it. Even so, he had been a big help and they'd got it all written up somehow, so...

Ach. They'd already agreed on it, so... he spat it out. "We were thinking of hanging out at the arcade this weekend." Aida glanced to Suzuhara momentarily, who kept still in approval. His eyes were drawn to the little red book their former partner was forever reading. "I know you're from the country, but we were thinking maybe you'd want to come too? It's not very expensive; it's just a couple dollars for a whole afternoon. We were thinking of going Sunday."

Katsuragi had turned his body to face him a little, but it was clear his focus was still on the hand-in box. Aida looked over to read Suzuhara's expression. '_We tried.'_, he seemed to say.

Then Katsuragi surprised them by responding with a sentence. It's not like he was one of those loons that ignored you when you spoke to them, but Katsuragi never really said much or offered any opinions on anything in all the hours they had spent with him. "I'd like that. I don't really have any money, but it'd be fun to watch..." They exchanged another series of glances.

"Doubleplusgood, man. I'll give you a call on Saturday and let you know what's happening."

Suzuhara thought he saw him smiling a little. He cleared his throat and glanced to Aida's wrist, and his bespectacled friend caught on after a couple seconds.

"Going time, I reckon. 'Efficiency is Patriotism', right?"

Aida led them in their trudge to the classroom and another day of lessons that conformed to the _spirit_ of the national standards without meeting them in either quality or content.

* * *

><p>"Major." He gestured generously to the seat in front of his desk, and the soldier seated himself in it. Ishii sat back in his chair and gave Kongo a level look. "I'll try to keep it simple."<p>

Kongo let his features remain expressionless. This was a new phrase coming from the younger man, but if Ishii Junior was anything like his father then this was sure to be a heavy and long-winded talk.

"First, I believe praise is order. You conducted yourself well thus far, as is to be expected of a man of your mettle. Even Major Katsuragi acknowledges your value on the battlefield." Ishii twiddled his thumbs. His fingers crossed over each other and his hands rested on the desk. "However, she has filed a complaint regarding your training methods, and Ikari has seconded it."

Through the bullet-proof one-way glass, one could see the control room ticking over with muted activity. A janitor – a Korean, going by his green armband– was mopping the mezzanine floor. He found a gold-rimmed cigarette under the desk after pulling the trio of chairs out and away so as to mop under it. He furtively looked around the empty balcony and glanced up to the mirrored glass wall of Ishii's primary office before pocketing it.

"Look," Ishii said reasonably. "I _know_" – he lightly patted the desk with one hand at the word – "what you're thinking. I was an Army man too, remember. But we need Ikari. Far more than he needs us," he added.

Kongo looked as if he might be about to say something – no-one really knew him well enough to tell for sure – but Ishii pre-empted him. "Ikari's a career politician with a web of contacts high and low. You're a good officer, Iesada, you really are. But times have changed." Ishii got up and walked over to the window, hands in his suit-pants' pockets. "It's the civilians that do the politicking now."

A courier walked up to the Floor Chief to get a package signed off. Though his back was to the office, his sigh was visible as he put aside his dossier – one of several littering 'his' desk – to scribble on the clipboard. Sitting back down heavily, he hesitated before resuming work and paused to inspect the courier's figure as she strode off. Ishii looked over to where Kongo was sitting.

"I chose you because you're old-school, and I knew I could count on you to be tough on the pilots. You've done good work with Mana. I'll give you that. But if I can't count on you to… _reign it in_ a little with these new kids, then I'll have to restructure you." He moved to sit down but paused to give the NCO a meaningful glance. "We'll be getting more girls in soon." He dropped into his seat and made a mildly apologetic gesture as he continued speaking over what might have been an objection about to make itself known. "I know. _I know_. One was enough, but it's like the Third Branch is doing it specifically just to annoy me." His gaze flicked back to Kongo. "You too, of course." His gaze wandered off again. "I just hoped that maybe, just _maybe_ after _last year_ we'd get one of our own people in. But what happens? It's all _politics_." The word was loaded with more resignation than scorn.

An uneasy silence descended upon the room. Ishii broke it with a clearing of his throat.

"Look, I know this is a lot for you. You don't have to keep going if you don't want. You've been a great help so far. If you don't want to work with kids anymore there's a left-leaning questionable in Security that I've had my eye on for a while. Former student protester, you know the type. No reason to think he's actually working for the reds, but he knows we could call him out on it pretty much anytime..."

He drummed his fingers on the desktop thoughtfully.

"It's a good job, and I could use someone like you there. No more teaching and no more kids, except for the ones they cram in uniforms and call soldiers these days." He tried to convey a certain degree of comradeship through a smile, but Kongo reckoned it came off as more of a self-satisfied half-smirk.

The moment dragged on. Ishii had said his piece apparently. As time passed, the onus was on Kongo to say something.

Eventually, a few, quiet, tedious minutes later, Kongo spoke. "I see."

The janitor was practically finished. He gave the table a quick spray and wipe-down, then shifted his cart over to the service elevator and pressed the button, whistling to himself as he waited.

There was a buzz from under the desk, and Ishii gave the soldier what passed for an apologetic grimace as he pressed the 'talk' button. "Sir, you have a call from a Mister Zachmann of Chicago? He says it's important."

Ishii eyed his Kongo. "Keep him on hold for the moment. Tell him I'm just finishing up a meeting. I'll pick up the moment we're done." He lifted his finger and his gaze resettled on Kongo.

"I can handle it." Kongo paused to consider his next words.

Ishii leapt into the silence. "Excellent. I knew I could count on you. My father always did hold you in the highest regard." He stood, then frowned as he realised Kongo had been about to say something. "Was there anything else, Major?"

Kongo paused for thought. "No," he said, clearly dwelling on something. "Good afternoon, General." He bowed, and Ishii gave a slight bow in response. Kongo turned on his heel ninety degrees to the right, dismissing himself as Ishii reached for the telephone receiver. He inspected the military doctor out of the corner of his eye as he left. He was looking thoughtful, gazing out into his domain.

"Oh. Major…"

Kongo slowed to a stop and looked Ishii's way proper. Steepling his hands under his nose he gave a slight, _knowing_ smirk to his subordinate. "The British will be here shortly. The regulars up at Third Section are coming out, just to see humble little us…" He returned to looking at the NCO. "The Americans will be here within the month. Try not to be too hard on them, won't you?"

Kongo gave a small half-grin. "Yes, sir."

* * *

><p>Misato put aside the dark thoughts she'd been nursing as she saw a golden opportunity for a quick laugh. She paused in the doorway and raised an eyebrow. "When I said 'get a room', I didn't mean <em>mine<em>…"

Ritsuko gave Misato an un-amused scowl as she walked into her office. Ibuki leaned up to say something to Ritsuko who hunched over a little more to hear it. He whispered something concerned-sounding as his superior eyed Misato unpacking her briefcase. She cleared her throat and addressed her friend. "My office computer died on me. You're the only person on-staff who doesn't make use of their personal computer, so it was a natural choice. I hope you don't mind."

The way Ritsuko's hand rested on her subordinate's shoulder as she stared her way protectively reminded Misato of something, but she couldn't think what. Some kind of animal? Not that she'd seen one for years now, apart from birds.

"Nah, it's fine. But what's the Lieutenant doing here?" Ibuki capped his ballpoint pen, thereby drawing her attention. "No offense." He took it well, apparently.

"I thought 'Ki here could use a little help. Our data internetwork has been doing odd things of late. I think someone's been trying to access it surreptitiously," Ritsuko answered.

That sounded fair enough. 'But, why do it in here?'

"Okay," Misato said carefully and non-committedly. "Ritsu, a word?" She made a 'come hither' gesture and Ritsuko unlatched herself from Ibuki's back as he alternated between some rather wordy reports and a screen full of English numbers and letters. Misato put an arm around her slightly-taller friend and ushered into the corner farthest from the young officer which was about a few metres anyway. They would have to whisper.

"Why _my_ office?"

"I already—"

"There are staff computers. I haven't been here long, but I know they're around here somewhere. Why are you _really _here?"

They shared an intense look for half a minute. Misato saw Ibuki glance their way for a second and she flashed him a small smile. He returned it and resumed work.

"As for conking out on you, I'm guessing that's your way of saying you poured a glass of scotch into it."

Ritsuko's outward expression barely changed but Misato read in her careful impassiveness a hint of, if her story was to be believed, unjustified defensiveness. "I'll take that as a yes then."

Why it should be this awkward between them all of a sudden was a mystery to her in that moment. She had to smooth it over quickly. Her choice approach was to talk her mouth off... as per usual.

"You don't need to trash your computer to come hang out with me. If you want some quality time, all you have to do is ask." In an instant she closed the remaining few inches and bear-hugged the air out of her gangly friend, lifting her a centimetre off the ground and dropping her. "It'll be just like old times! Here, I've still got some vodka from the Russian guy. He said it was good stuff but the packaging is very plain, don't you think? I mean, just look at it!"

She had, with a flourish, produced a bottle from under her desk and slammed it down on the desk, turning it around so Ritsuko could see the rather ordinary looking Cyrillic label. Ritsuko checked her watch. It was only half-past one in the afternoon. She kicked herself mentally. Of _course _it was the bloody afternoon. She hadn't worked late nights for weeks now, though with the base's artificial lighting you could never tell. "Misato…"

Ibuki was also staring at her as she opened the bottle, filled one of the mugs scattered about her desk with its contents and advanced on her. What on earth…? Oh, _bollocks_. Not again. A quick, polite refusal could still save her maybe, hopefully –

In the time it had taken her friend to figure out just what she had planned, Misato had slipped one arm around her and pressed the mug to her lips, and now she was tilting it back. "Shirt or stomach." She said with that inane grin on her face like it was the funniest thing ever. Gods-_damnit_. _This_ was why she had stopped wearing nice clothes around Misato. The crazy girl _knew_ just how much she hated the sticky feel of dried-up drink, let alone what people would think if they caught a whiff at anytime in the next… damnit, _six hours_ before she could finally go home and change. One hand was on the outside of Misato's body and the other was still at her side, beneath the raised arm of her 'friend'. The liquor was on the verge of spilling over her lips and onto her shirt.

Ritsuko's senses of taste and smell had always been kind of rubbish, so she could only guess at the quality of the vodka – it was probably good stuff – but she knew for a fact it was _strong_. When she had pried the mug away from her face she pushed Misato aside and bent over coughing. Ibuki looked up, startled and about to ask what the hell happened and if everyone was okay.

"I hate you," she said, inbetween coughs.

To Misato, the statement was loaded with irritation but no real malice. "No you don't." She rubbed the small of her uptight friend's back as she coughed into the handkerchief she had produced from somewhere in the depths of her coat. The scene was pretty self-explanatory. He let them alone as Misato placed the now-mostly-empty mug back on the edge of her desk.

"Today I do. I have a meeting with Fuyutsuki in…" she stood up and checked her watch, wiping her mouth with the cloth before pocketing it again, "…two hours."

Ah. Misato cringed inwardly. Maybe it hadn't been such a great idea then. 'Should've asked first.' she thought. "Is it important?"

Ritsuko's death glare manifested itself. Misato felt her smile strain a little at the edges. "No, it isn't," her friend's expression softened a little. "But why the _hell _did you do that? It's not funny. It's _not_. What if I had a meeting with Ikari, huh?"

Misato was already doubled over laughing, but it seemed to Ritsuko that the Captain had found her hypothetical concerning Ikari particularly humorous. Arms crossed, she tapped her foot and waited. Ibuki communicated an 'Is she okay?' look with his eyes and a tilt of his head. Ritsuko just gave him a quick 'Yes, unfortunately' nod.

Misato tried to say something, but it took a couple of tries. "I think he'll think–" she stopped to giggle, "– you're ill or something. He'll try to take your temperature, and ask you if it's too cold…" Thankfully, it seemed she had come around to the fact that it really _wasn't_ funny. At all. Hopefully that would be the end of that. Ritsuko was about to say something cutting when she made another attempt at humour. "But if it's Ikari Senior, I think someone might just get themselves laid, for the first time since…forever!"

Misato could see she had struck a nerve there. Twisting it could only make things more fun. "You'll totter in holding the wall, and he'll be all 'Assistant Director!'" Ritsuko brought her hand to her forehead as her friend attempted his voice. "'Report to my desk for… _pastry review_.'"

Though it was cringe-worthy enough on its own, Ritsuko _was_ curious as to what Misato had been trying to say. 'Do I _really_ want to know, though…? Oh, hell.'

"_Pastry review_?" she asked. She was probably going to regret it. "Yeah. You know, Pastry Review. Bun Assessment. Pudding evaluation. _Meat-seat inspection_."

Yep, there it was. Regret.

"_Why_ are you still my friend?"

Misato beamed. "I have _no _idea."

Two hours later, she cursed her so-called friend. Fuyutsuki was there as he said he would be, standing behind the desk and a little off to one side. But sitting beside him, his nose resting on his crossed fingers, was Ikari. _Director_ Ikari.

'_Friend_'. She strode across the floor slowly and deliberately, as if tired from a long day at work, so as to conceal the slight imbalance in her gait. What kind of friend would do such a thing when you were _at work_? _On duty?_ Ritsuko liked to think that she didn't have anyone to call a friend, but she had called Captain Katsuragi a friend, albeit a terrible one who might yet get her reprimanded or _fired_.

She handed the report to Doctor Fuyutsuki, who flipped over the cover and leafed through the first few pages, giving the real meat of the report a more thorough scan. Apart from the distant, quiet hum of the ventilation system and the occasional rustle of paper, the room was quiet. She stood at attention, counting the seconds go by as Ikari continued to stare straight ahead and past her.

"Alright. Everything's in order, it would seem." He looked to Ikari for affirmation. Ikari dropped his hands to the desk and looked up to him.

"Thank you. Please leave us for now." The elder man bowed a fraction and turned to leave without saying another word. "Thank you," the Director added.

When they were alone Ikari finally met her gaze.

"How is my son?"

Ritsuko's jaw had loosened a little at the words, her mouth threatening to open. She tightened it again, cautiously so as to conceal her surprise.

"I… he seems fine, sir."

"Is he settling in?"

"I, ah…I guess. Yes, I suppose he is. He has some troubles, I understand, but it's nothing major."

"What do you think of his performance?"

"Uh…Captain Katsuragi may be able to better answer that question, sir."

His stare, bland and expectant, compelled her to elaborate regardless. He had asked for _her _assessment of his performance.

"He seems fine. His general handling and fine motor control is acceptable and has improved marginally. Engineering says they're now satisfied with his weapons and armour and bindings maintenance, though he would do well to watch the damage he takes in the next engagement. TacOps seems to be satisfied with the outcome of the latest engagement, though Miss Katsuragi may have more to say on that point."

"How's he doing in school?"

"Er…"

'How the hell should I know off the top of my head? _Doesn't he read the reports? _'

"I believe he's doing fine. Good grades, as always."

He could just be testing whether _she_ had read them. Hopefully not, because in all honesty she didn't know, or care. His son's well-being wasn't _her_ concern.

Ikari said nothing, but his gaze had shifted elsewhere for a change. Ritsuko became acutely aware of just how loud her wrist-watch was as it counted off the seconds.

Was it _just _a test, though? Of all the little things he could have asked about...

He spoke before she got it together enough to form a proper question. Not that - as she would admit to herself later - she would have had the courage to ask it.

"Thank you, Miss Akagi. Good day."

That was her dismissal. She bowed, turned on her heel and walked out. The muted tap of her work-boots on the concrete was the only sound to be heard above the low sifting sound of the ventilation system.

* * *

><p>I thank you, Sinister Banana, for another chapter well-beta'd.<p>

Constructive(?) criticism is more than welcome, as always.

Persuading me to add an anthropomorphic raccoon named Geoff does not count as constructive criticism.

...that also goes for raccoons in general.

Happy Holidays!


	9. Mana

Chapter Nine: _Mana_, or, A New Perspective

* * *

><p>2112/1973, 8:33 a.m.

It is a cloudy day in New Edo.

The grey water laps weakly at the exposed rock of the former hillside. A light easterly breeze rustles the wild grass and scraggly bushes that are all that grow here. Once, you could observe the slums of Tokyo from these hills. Now you could go fishing here, if you wanted.

Not that you would catch anything.

Today the waters' edge bustles with activity. An American destroyer is moored a few hundred metres offshore, and more ships are visible on the horizon. One can just make out a cargo ship from the top of the hill here; it sticks to the deeper waters southeast of the city and is no doubt making its way to the city's artificial harbour. Another convoy of lorries rumbles down the coast road. They are towing guns – artillery. It's a curious sight. The trucks are a Japanese make; they bear the white-and-red flag of the rising sun, but the guns themselves are Soviet made. The self-propelled artillery pieces waiting for them by the shore are also Soviet models.

The trio of attack helicopters flying by them are American, and they are but one formation of many crowding the sky. The faint scream of jet engines is audible as the aeroplanes circle overhead.

The centrepiece of the action is a surprisingly human figure. 'Surprisingly' on account of its size. It is a hundred metres tall, perhaps. It crouches on one knee, hands planted firmly on – no, _into _– the ground, facing northeast and out to sea. The dim light of the morning sun gleams ever so faintly off the unpainted metal of its gauntlets, its helmet, and myriad other pieces of armour. It looks like something from the times of Nobunaga or Cao Cao. A cable trails from its spine to the strange vehicle which occupies the pair of railway tracks behind it. A train-spotter, anorak or no, might notice that the gauge of the rails is wider than one would expect in Japan. The design bureau or the construction team could tell you that building the damn thing was more than just a simple question of packing earth and laying tracks, though that was part of it.

A pair of trains screeches to a halt behind the twin-engine curiosity which sits at the end of the tracks. Their cargoes look very queer indeed, but their purpose becomes clear when the figure stands up, walks over to them, and picks them up. Once seen in the hands of the humanoid figure, they take on the form of a rifle, a pistol, ammunition, and magazines. The figure loads the pistol and clips it into a slot on the front of its carapace. It checks the rifle for faults before loading it and firing a single round into the water nearby. The water is shallow, however, and the round detonates. The artillerymen are impressed. The figure fits magazines into various places and settles down to wait with its miniature brethren.

They do not have to wait long.

A little way in from the destroyer, a darker patch of water becomes apparent as it swiftly advances upon the shore. The foamy trails of torpedoes are visible as the destroyer launches a withering salvo at it. A hundred metres from land, one makes contact in a muted plume of water.

The shadow keeps advancing as the other torpedoes detonate against the rock of the seashore. It slows to a stop only metres from dry land.

That is when the entity rises out of the water to reveal itself as a roughly humanoid figure. It has what are recognisable as a pair of legs and a pair of arms.

That is where the similarities end.

Everyone is too stunned to do anything as it takes its first tottering steps on dry land. Its empty, vaguely avian sockets stop their scan mid-sweep and it turns its whole body to face the waiting figure of black and grey.

Everything is very, very still for a moment.

The silence is broken by a shot. It's a small thing, probably a pistol. Neither of the giant figures notices, but many of the artillerymen look around dumbly for the firer. In the fearful quiet, there is the distinctive sound of a mortar being fired and then another. An artillery piece fires and, in the next few seconds, the figure on the beach is the centre of a whirlwind of sound, light, and smoke. The kneeling figure fires off a few rounds experimentally.

The firing comes to an abrupt halt, and everyone waits for the last of the smoke to clear. When it does, seconds later, the alien figure is revealed to be unharmed, though they cannot help but read a certain degree of taken-aback-ness in its guarded poise. The giant on the hill raises its weapon and resumes firing, the soldiers scrambling to follow suit.

* * *

><p>The rumble of the guns was ever-present as the jeep made its way down the deserted northern highway. They faint but distinctive roar of jet engines had been an ever-present accompaniment to the increasingly sporadic report of the artillery, but they could be heard no longer.<p>

The jeep was green and emblazoned with the flag of the rising sun. It had four wheels, five seats and was wholly unremarkable in itself. The windshield was up, but not the flimsy hood. In it were three people; all natives, and all in uniform: a girl in khaki, a woman in black, and a boy in black-and-white.

Strangely, the woman sat in the back with the kid.

Stranger still, she was practically sitting in his lap.

As one might expect, he appeared extremely uncomfortable.

She seemed to find his discomfort very amusing.

The driver was doing her best to ignore the both of them, but she snuck in a peek every once in a while. They were going too fast for her to hear them properly, but she was pretty sure that _the officer_ was doing most of the talking. One thing was for sure, though; she envied that kid. Just look at him, sitting there with a _Captain_ fawning all over him...

'Why can't I ever get some of that?'

The line of thought took a turn for the serious as she noted a road sign. Not too long before they would be at the station now. Couple of minutes, tops.

'Regulations, of course. Then there's _competition_...' she pretended to examine another road sign as they zoomed past so she could give the young couple another quick assessment, then sighed at the conclusion. The both of them were prettier than she was. Which formed the basis of the third point. 'Demand.' Everyone loves a man in uniform. An officer's uniform, that is. It's probably right there in the constitution. Which was funny because the constitution was very clear on the subject of military officers – there weren't supposed to be any. 'But what have we here?' She grinned to herself. Ha-de-frickin' grin faded as she noticed that something was missing.

Her brows furrowed in concentration, then went slack as she paled.

The guns had stopped. Not just... muted or paused or whatever. They'd stopped entirely.

She felt sick all of a sudden. Ill-at-ease, having a bad feeling about this, that sort of thing. There was a whole _division_ out there! Foreigners, too!

As her brain worked the matter further, she felt more uneasy still. The jeep had a radio, but they hadn't given her a channel to use, which was bloody typical. There were still jets and helos around though. You could hear them just fine. She scanned the sky for them with one eye on the road.

The planes she could see were flying _away_ from the action.

The Captain noticed her looking around, and they exchanged a significant glance. She stopped teasing the kid and produced a pair of binoculars from somewhere, starting her own scan.

They couldn't be more than a minute from the station now, surely.

"Stop the car."

She did. Too quickly, if anything; the kid ended up sprawled over her shoulders but that didn't matter because _they had togetout_. The two of them practically threw him out before rushing him into the drainage ditch at the side of the road. It was the only cover for maybe half a mile.

"Keep your fingers in your ears and your eyes closed. Don't stop until I tell you to. Got it?"

He nodded, but questions were evident in his eyes and he opened his mouth to "– just do it."

He obeyed and curled up into a ball. The sky lit up like… like something _very_ bright and the last thing she saw in the split second before she did the same as the kid was the Captain throwing herself on top of him, fingers in her ears. She couldn't help but be amused at how silly she looked in that moment. Her laughter was reduced to utter insignificance by the heat and sound that followed.

* * *

><p>It was bright. Very bright.<p>

… _too_ bright. Furthermore, the sheets were crisp and clean. The air... smelt of? _stank_ of? _was heavy __with_ the smell of disinfectant.

Eyes focused and adjusted to the glare, affording an ever-better view of the white panels of the ceiling. This confirmed her suspicions: this was not her room.

She raised her head to look around. She had the room, the_ hospital_ room, to herself.

She could not recall anything needing to be done. If someone needed her to do something, they would come get her in time. She was patient. It was very nice here. She could just lie here forever…

She blinked. She was far more… _patient _than usual. She sat up again and examined her drip-bags carefully. That would explain her blissful indifference in the face of her injuries, which included a _probably_ – hopefully – minor head injury, various cuts, and bruises; they were not control-harness injuries. She had acquired first-hand a great wealth of experience with those. Experience told her there was no way to tell if she actually had sprained or dislocated something without getting up and moving around, and sometimes painkillers concealed the more minor injuries. She had no recollection of why she was here, which surprised her even though it shouldn't have. This happened sometimes with head injuries, she recalled.

The clock on the wall ticked by. The ninth hour of the day was at hand.

Back to waiting.

She lay back under the all-too-familiar ceiling, blinking and breathing as required.

She did not have to wait for _too_ long. It may have been ten minutes at the most. She was good at keeping time, even without a watch.

The door opened and she sat up, unhurried.

Her stony features softened a touch at the sight.

"Father."

The moment seemed to call for more words, but she wasn't quite sure what to say. Which was silly, because that implied that she had something meaningful or significant to communicate to him or ask of him. She didn't, ergo she had nothing to say. He was clearly healthy, if tired. What else was there to ask about?

"Mana." He slowed to stop by her side. "I am glad you are well. Do you feel well enough to get up?"

"I..."

'...yes, in all probability?' She could not be sure, however. "I have not tried."

He urged her to try by way of a gesturing hand, stepping back to give her space to do so.

She slipped her legs out from underneath the sheets and tentatively lowered them to the ground, her hands gripping the bedrail. Cautiously, she leaned forward. Standing on her own two feet, she took a bold step forwards... and stumbled into his waiting arms.

He helped her back to the bed and pressed the 'call' button on the wall.

They exchanged a look. He was saddened at her condition, she was sure, though even she could hardly tell _just_ by looking at him. Father was always like that; familiarity and context were needed to make sense of what he might be thinking or feeling.

Nothing was said. It did not need to be. His gaze remained on her as she examined the hospital garden through the windows.

When the nurse came in, he excused himself and went to exchange a few quiet words with the woman. After a minute or so she left again and he returned to her side.

"Remain here for now. The doctors will release you when they are satisfied that you are sufficiently recovered." He met her steady gaze. "Do you need any thing?"

Her eyes slid off to one side and stayed there for a moment. Then they edged over a little further, coming to rest on the smooth brown bakelite of the radio. She met his gaze again.

"No."

"I shall visit you later if I have time. Goodbye, Mana."

"Goodbye, Father."

With that, he turned on his heel and walked out. The door was halted in its attempts at closing by a nurse forcing a trolley into the room, accompanied by the faint scent of hot rice gruel. It didn't sit well with the background smell of the disinfectant.

* * *

><p>She took off her earmuffs to listen. "Better. Reload." There was a squealing of brakes behind them. Captain Katsuragi had arrived. He turned around to see her accompany her charge down the slope. He turned back to his most prized student for a moment. "Belay that. Come."<p>

"Yes, Sergeant."

The pairs met halfway. For a few, tense moments silence reigned. This was Nerv HQ's no.4 firing range, and today it had been reserved for the pilots' use. Pilots plural – both of them were fit for training at any rate, even if her Eva was still inoperable. The Major and the Sergeant stood very straight with their hands at their sides. Shinji had one arm across his body, his hand gripping the upper arm of his... other arm. Mana noticed that she was doing much the same, only her arms were behind her back. Shinji was fidgeting with his free hand, she noticed. Mana wasn't _bored_, but she had been told it was rude not to greet colleagues in circumstances such as these. However, she had also been told to wait for her superiors and/or seniors to issue greetings first.

It was probably more important to issue the greeting, though. Perhaps the Sergeant didn't know what to say? He didn't say much. He could simply be waiting for the Captain to speak first. That would make sense from a greetings standpoint, but at the same time it violated protocol – an inferior should always salute first, for instance. But Nerv was not a regular military organisation, as he himself had pointed out, so obviously that didn't apply in this situation...

Anyway, a simple 'good' tacked on to the time of day worked just fine in her experience.

"Good morning, Captain Katsuragi," she bowed and turned to Shinji, giving him slight head-bow. "Good morning, Pilot Ikari."

"Hello, Mana. It's good to see you remember Shinji. Love at first sight is a precious thing."

Shinji's cheeks became rosy as Mana was left looking thoughtful. The expression was vaguely familiar, if indeed it was a... 'a phrase? An aphorism? A saying?' She had read it somewhere before, perhaps.

Kongo strove to wipe the trace of mirth from his face before addressing his superior. "I'll take it from here, Ma'am. You may rest assured I will be more gentle with your charge in future."

It was not like the Sergeant to be apologetic, Mana noted. She had not known Captain Katsuragi long, but she believed that his words had done something to put her at ease. The implications of his words were, of course, that he had been more rough with Shinji in the past. The next few hours should provide some clue as to just what that meant, though she could guess. The Captain squeezed her fellow pilot on the shoulder and flashed a small smile her way. 'Should I smile back?' It probably wasn't expected of her, but whether it was or not was irrelevant as it was now too late to do so anyway. She made a note of it so that she might ask Mister Fuyutsuki about it later.

When she was out of earshot, Kongo turned to look at Shinji who stopped looking at the two of them indirectly and turned his head to one side to better avert his eyes. His free hand fiddled with the seam of his slacks as Captain Katsuragi drove off in a rapidly-dissipating haze of diesel. Mana continued to stand easy, slightly curious at what would happen now.

"Mana," he said, drawing her eyes. "Strip down your rifle and wait for us."

"Yes, Sergeant."

She obeyed. It was only a matter of seconds. Seventeen seconds to be precise.

She looked over to where Shinji and the Sergeant were. She could only guess what they were talking about, but she guessed that the Sergeant reassuring him that he would be gentle with him. In her experience, whenever the Sergeant was harsh it was because he was actually trying to do her a favour. He did not _appear_ to be a man who enjoyed suffering - she was sure that he liked to think that he did not - but she suspected that on some level, he did. Perhaps. Further speculation would not be productive; she would just have to wait and see.

And wait, she did.

She was good at waiting.

It was a few minutes before the two started their way over and 'Katsuragi' sat down next to her. She expected_ that_ unnecessary fiction was the General's work. She did not think Miss Akagi would see the need for such a trivial - and potentially troublesome - lie. The Sergeant had said once that being an officer with no experience of war or hardship had made him a man who delighted in the theatrics of his position, one inclined to agonise over the most minor of details. His actual words had been much more concise, of course, and profane.

Even so, she had again found herself of one mind with him.

The Sergeant took up position just behind them, for the moment silent and paused in thought. He looked down to Shinji, who avoided his gaze and remained huddled by his weapon.

"Assemble and load."

* * *

><p>"Of course, victory was practically inevitable. My team here is the best in the country. Only the nation's <em>best<em>" – he paused to clamp an arm over the young man – "and _brightest_" – he squeezed the young man, neglecting the girl at his other side amidst a few smiles. After a few seconds he jumped back a little in theatrical gesture as if he had _just_ noticed her and put his arm around her as well – "are _fit_ for the Eva program itself, though of course there are many critical jobs to be performed outside, ah, 'Project E' and its immediate, ehhh, _departments_." He dropped his arms and made a little gesture ahead of them. "This way, please."

The proud-to-be director of 'Project Evangelion' led his prized pilots and the gaggle of security-approved reporters along the catwalk. Trailing behind the mob was one man in a very nice white uniform and a shorter one in more plain-looking grey uniform with red bits. Both had shoulder boards and nice caps with golden badges on them, and each was wearing about two packs of cards worth of multi-coloured strips on the left side of his chest. They chatted idly, though it was the 'Grey' that was doing most of the chatting. 'White' was mostly just murmuring monosyllabic replies. A reporter – Timothy Hardy – glanced back to them and wondered if he could maybe wheedle a word out of them. The 'don't-try-anything' look from the pair of Japanese military policemen following just behind them discouraged him, but it was the look of open hostility from the Admiral that convinced him to spare his dignity. For his part, the General gave him a look of sympathy and a Gallic shrug.

Below them, the assistant director of Project E scowled daggers at where she figured the departing figure of her superior to be. Her eyes continued to narrow as the seconds ticked by, the loud ticking of her wristwatch becoming audible in the relative stillness. She flinched violently and involuntarily as someone put their arm around her, pulling her sideways and off-balance into a one-armed hug. A playful voice sounded in her ear and she shivered without quite meaning to. They had always been her weak spot.

"Awww, don't do that, Ritsu… if you're still doing that when the wind changes…" The surprise-hugger let go, and 'Ritsu' directed the scowl _their _way. Misato just smiled wider under her friend's withering glare. Behind her, Shinji was trying not to look too openly mortified and Mana was standing at ease. Or rather, she was standing at what passed for standing at ease in her books, which is to say she looked like someone had rammed a – "Sorry to drop in on ya all sudden-like. I just thought I'd take the kids out for a drive. School's out 'cause of flooding – you know how it is – and when I was dropping them off I thought, why not go out of town for a bit and catch some fresh air? And I thought, 'Hey, the Gora Defence line is really nice when it's not on the front line', so I figured that seeing as I knew you were here and all…" Ritsuko waved a hand impatiently and Misato cut to the chase, even she was nearly done explaining. But she knew how Ritsu liked to get to the point, so cutting to the chase had never _really_ bothered her. Well, not too much. "So what's all this then?" she nodded by way of gesturing to the entire rest of the hangar.

"My workshop for th' week. A _beauty_, isn't she?" A podgy fifty-something, clad in one of the eponymous orange jumpsuits of Nerv's engineer corps, appeared from between the haphazardly ordered stacks of unmarked crates that left the nearest wall a maze of shadows. He was a little shorter than average, grey-haired, and entirely unremarkable but for his voice, which seemed to ring a bell in the young lad's head. "Yon laddie 'ere sh'd know, ay? Built half o' it weth 'is own hands, he did. Didn't yeh?"

"Yes, sir."

"That's m'boy." He offered his hand and the boy shook it without a moment's hesitation. "Et's good t'meet yeh at last, in the flesh an' all that. How's th' arm?"

"It's, ah…" he looked at it himself. Four sets of eyes made contact with the plaster; the Albino's eyes didn't deviate from Shinji's expression as he blanched. "It's fine." After a couple of seconds he felt the need to say something else and he inadvertently cut the elder man off before he could speak. "It still itches a bit but I think it should be coming off soon. Is it, Miss?" He looked to Akagi. She was caught a little off guard, and noticed the engineer taking the opportunity to let the boy's hand go. Life has a quota of awkward handshakes in store for a man, an English friend of hers always liked to say.

"...I think so, yes. Now, Captain Katsuragi and her charges would like to know what it is we're doing here. I trust you can be of assistance?"

Of bloody course! What kind of chief engineer would know what was going on with his own men?

"Aye, that I can." He seemed to notice Misato for the first time and took off his cap, twirling it down in front of him as he made a dramatic bow. "Captain Mogami at your service, Captain." He met her gaze to see her wearing a friendly grin. Straightening and replacing his cap, he turned back to Ritsuko. "Aye... et's not my department, yeh might say, but I suppose I could, yeh. Why not? Come on." He started off towards the gargantuan corpse of the fallen Angel, making a gesture for them to follow, which the children did in short order.

As she turned to follow them, Misato noted Ritsuko not moving. "Please, Misato. I've got work to do." Her friend looked skeptical. "I was just taking a smoke-break. I've got to get back to..."

"To quietly seething with resentment?"

Well, she did actually have work to do, but that was a good point.

"Touché."

The others, Mana included, had noted their absence by now and were looking back their way expectantly. "We'll only be five minutes." The pleading tone, again. "Come on."

She allowed herself to be dragged along. 'Oh, fine. Whatever.' It could wait.

They caught up to them rather quickly. "An' this here's... oh, it's all part o' th' process, 'ay. Can't have it rottin' here forever, so we're lookin' for that _thing_ o' Miss Akagi's here afore we blow et to kingdom come and ship it out o' here."

"Thing?" Ritsuko studied Misato's expression as they walked behind the others. Shinji was also giving her an expectant look.

It's not like it was classified or anything, but still...well, better she heard it now than she go off and find out for herself. Gods and spirits above knew she probably could, too. You can only keep so much secret when hundreds if not thousands of people are working on it at any given time.

"It's an organ which, if harnessed, could be a great source of energy. It's how Angels survive without eating anything."

Mana already knew this, of course, but she couldn't see Shinji's reaction from here. Misato was troubled.

"So how long can an Angel survive just on this...organ?"

'How the hell should I know?'

"We're not sure. If we can get it to work for us, we may just find out. But we have to find it first, which is why this stage is taking so long."

"Ha! Took the words right out o' my mouth y'did. Aye, Gods only know how long this'll take, but the moment we're done we can blow it to as many pieces as we like. Come! I'll give yeh a good look in at the _squidgy_ work, ay. Yeh're all wearin' boots, right?"

There was a general murmur of assent and the Engineer led them on, alongside the corpse as they were by now. Nothing more was said as they walked right by the crimson-purple of its... flesh? Misato reached out to touch it, looking to Mogami for approval. He nodded. "Et's fine t'touch, we think. Mind, it's a bit of a _weird_ feelin' though."

Shinji took that as an invitation to reach and and touch with tentative outstretched fingers his victim. This was the first time he'd actually seen it with his own eyes, Ritsuko noted, let alone touch it. A moment for the history books, surely. Her thoughts returned to the answer she had oh-so-carefully rehearsed to what should have been Misato's next question. It wasn't as if that woman could read her like a book, but all the same... it just didn't sound _natural_.

'It's_ just_ a hypothesis, but if it is correct then we cannot afford to miss this opportunity.'

Or maybe it was just her.

As they continued into the autopsy zone, Ritsuko kept her head forward as she made a furtive check on Misato... who was still examining the Angel.

Well. That was easy. Misato had always been far too easy to distract.

Ritsuko tried to set her eyes on the far side of the hangar, but her gaze was drawn once more to the crowd on the catwalk. Misato looked her way at the sudden sound, but decided to let her bespectacled friend be. Deaf to the world, Ritsuko's arm tightened round her clipboard as she ground her teeth at thought of The Director of Project Evangelion basking in the sun of the world's appreciation.

* * *

><p>To you, oh Banana most Sinister - and readers most eager - I do pledge my thanks, and praise.<p> 


	10. We Need Them

"What's he saying?"

"Which bit?"

"The screaming."

"Hmm." He depressed the 'talk' button. "_Kuze_?"

"Mister Sullivan?"

Now Kuze was a Nip who didn't mangle his 'l's or 'r's. That alone was enough to make him appreciate the little fellow. It wasn't that he despised improper English on principle so much as he resented the lack of effort some people put into learning it properly, inclusive of the basic pronunciation. You didn't see _him_ settling for being merely comprehensible, after all.

"Can you take us back thirty seconds?"

"Back before the screaming?" His smile broadened at the perfect 'r's.

"Yes. Lil Lizzie here wants another insight into her wedding night."

He allowed himself a brief, mood-gauging glance her way. He decided not to push his luck today. Bad joke, anyhow. From Dundee originally, wasn't she? Possibly Glasgow. He hadn't really read the unimportant bits of her profile. Either upbringing would explain the perfect 'I-will-gut-you-with-a-blunt-pen-knife' look she was sporting at the moment.

This comment was at least partly serious. She had been in knife-fights before if the profile was to be believed.

The tape whirred for a few seconds and stopped, before resuming in the midst of the screaming, which stopped abruptly as the tape whirred again. Then came the words of the Japanese man. So any second now – he listened carefully – there would be… ah, yep. After a few seconds it trailed off into wordless howling, and he made to provide his charge with a quick translation when the boy started saying barely recognisable words again before lapsing back into grunts and shrieks. It was over rather quickly.

"Thanks, Kuze." He turned to Lizzie, gathering his thoughts. Gosh, she hated it when he called her 'Lizzie'. "Liz or E-liz-abeth", she had always said, and so she _would_ say if he were to slip up again…

"Well, it wasn't too coherent. The bit at the beginning was calling upon the strength of the Emperor, and the spirit of the people of Nippon... and a couple of other things. The rest was more…" he searched for appropriate words, for propriety's sake "… earthy, and directed at the Angel itself."

"….'kay. Thanks."

_That's what I'm here for._ He spoke pointedly into the microphone. "Thank you, Kuze. That will be all for now."

* * *

><p>As expected, the source of the crying, the sobs, and the whimpering was a native girl. A gaggle of natives were cowering in one corner. A male adult huddled with some pups - presumably his. The female, wheezing her last in the little puddle of blood, was too far gone to notice him standing over her. She was probably the woman of the household. The native pinned to the floor – the focus of everyone's attention right now – couldn't be much older than her apparent siblings. The troublemakers were too preoccupied to notice his entry.<p>

Honourless _and_ stupid.

He found himself drawing back his rifle to strike the most egregious offender a second time, having crossed the short span of the room in what had seemed like a fraction of a second. Following up the unremembered first strike, he slammed the stock of his rifle into the small of the stunned man's back – at the last second diverting the blow to one side of the scum's spine, remembering just in time that he was one of their own. The layabout fell to his knees and Kongo kicked him onto his front before stepping back into a guarded stance, rifle held out in front of him. The offenders were taken aback, their eyes riveted on his bayonet as it shifted between the three of them.

Normally, of course, he would've walked right out again… probably would've made a report to the indigenous commander. But when he saw the rising sun emblems, the helmets and the uniform he held so dear… and, Gods above curse it, the looks on their faces as they defiled themselves… he had acted almost without thinking.

They didn't look very friendly, but neither were they so arrogant or hostile that he would feel justified taking them out just to be on the safe side. They might be the scabrous underside of his Imperial Majesty's Armed Forces, but even _they_ might get a good hit in with the numbers in their favour. Now to see if they were even half-minded to accept his authority instead of taking him out and claiming the natives got him. Not that Lieutenant Mori would let them survive that kind of treason, of course. The stuck-up bastard was still standing around outside no doubt, not willing to get his hands dirty...

They remained wary-looking, though none made for any of their weapons as he backed up a step, bayonet-tipped rifle shifting between them. Each in turn stiffened, lowering their hands and rapidly suppressing their outrage when they noticed the stripes. As one should expect of mere privates when they encountered an NCO. Then again, with some of the types they put into uniform and called soldiers, these days...

Sure enough of their quiescence, he used his shoe to encourage the downed 'soldier' over. The man groaned and coughed as Kongo placed his foot upon his belly. _'Man?'_ There was very little stubble to be seen, less than on his comrades. _'Can't be more than, what, eighteen?'_ He was evidently too young to be in the service, which was probably why he was here on garrison duty instead of _out there_.

He shifted his glare to encompass the others, shifting it again to the one on the far right. With a violent motion of his rifle, he growled, "_Your purse_." It took a moment for the demand to register, but soon enough he drew breath to protest as his features began to form a scowl…but just as quickly he thought better of it. He was evidently new to this and swallowed his objections, dropping his bayonet – such disrespect for his majesty's equipment, to boot! – to fumble through his pouches with both hands, pulling out a small bag and offering it to Kongo with both hands. Kongo balanced the rifle in his left hand as he took the bag with his right, sizing up the cool metal of the holed coins through the linen.

He tossed it in the presumed-widower's direction with an overhand motion. It hit one of the man's offspring in the head, making the child yelp and then burst into quickly-hushed-up tears. He motioned to the man on the floor.

"Bring him out."

He prompted them up and out at bayonet-point, shuffling along with their compatriot draped over their shoulders. They eased him onto his feet proper as they passed through the low doorway and into the street, stiffening at the sight of the Lieutenant and lining up to be marched off. Lt. Mori let a halfway concerned, searching look show through his impassive demeanour as he met Kongo's eye, but the too-young officer knew better than to ask questions in front of the rank-and-file. He kept one hand on his holster as if to reassure himself.

Already, the deviants were parade-ground-still.

No one actually dared to walk by them in the street, but in his peripheral vision he sensed a few natives watching from what they undoubtedly hoped was a safe distance. He didn't care that they saw, and he cared even less if they heard. It wasn't like they'd understand a word anyway.

He didn't say anything as he marched them off. He didn't need to.

They knew their crime, and they knew to expect punishment; education; _discipline_.

If they wouldn't show respect for their own bodies - the bodies they shared with _all_ the people of the nation high and low, innocent and not - of their own accord, then he would drill it into them. It wasn't just about them, though that alone would've been bad enough. The diseases these creatures carried...

Ahead of them he could see the natives scuttling out of sight to avoid them. A pair of buckets on a carrying pole, a _biandan_, lay abandoned on one side of the street.

* * *

><p>"The <em>hell<em> is going on out there?"

The line hissed.

"_King?_"

"Hold up. Yeah… yeah, it's not good. It's not shooting on sight, thank God, but it's slagging everything that puts up a fight."

There was a whole flotilla anchored in and around New Tokyo. King's flotilla. Well, not really, but that's how he liked to think of it. Admiral Keller, the nominal commander, was a first-class _asshole_ and barely competent to boot. At least he knew how to delegate. But never mind that now.

"'Slagging?'"

"Yeah. It's like... _the War of the Worlds_. Only it's not going 'pew-pew-pew' and making things disappear. It's…it...you'll see. It's just..."

King allowed himself a chuckle, which became a kind of hollow laugh. He was going to reprimand him for it, but he stopped himself abruptly.

"It's huge. Destroyed the _Bridget _in a shot. Twenty minutes later with the motor launch and that woulda been me gone."

There was nothing but the immediate hum of the electronics in his ear, and the bustle of the Nipponese headquarters at large.

You'd think being an Admiral – even just as a political appointment – would help you with finding something to say at moments like this. But he'd been a logistics officer...and it really didn't.

He didn't even remember _Bridget_'s class.

"Destroyer escort. Even so…you might wanna tell the commies to forget it. There's no way in hell they're gonna make a dent in that thing. Richards tried to pull a _Thunderchild_ with his _New Orleans_-class. Not a scratch."

"…and Richards?"

"One with the waves. Literal _blaze_ of glory. You shoulda seen it. Two shots. Like it was figuring out how much to use."

He didn't really know Richards. They'd met – what – twice? But he couldn't help thinking of the man as a complete idiot now, dead or not.

_Glory_, huh.

"So, uh…over to you. We're sitting tight 'til you guys figure something out. Keller's good to go along with whatever."

"Yeah."

Nothing more to be said, was there. Had to say something more, of course.

"Yeah, uh... good luck."

"You too."

Off to one side, the Russian crushed his cigarette underfoot and started making his way back to the desk. Casey lowered his hand from the receiver and laid it to rest in its cradle.

"_My condolences."_ The socialist seated himself, continuing in their sole mutually intelligible tongue. _"Were there any survivors? It must have been pretty bad._"

This guy... eugh. Sleazy as all hell, always so buddy-buddy. It wouldn't do to look rude in front of the Junior Defence Minister, who sat between them in lieu of his immediate superior. The young man, no doubt, would be reporting every word back to the old fogey when he got here. So he smiled too much in the split second before he remembered to rein it in again so it didn't look overly put-on. A bitter, humourless smile and not a psychotic one.

"_No. It was too quick. You will see when the film gets here_."

"_I guess so."_

The young man shifted uneasily in his seat as the two uniformed foreigners continued to smile each other down. He would've found it kind of funny if it hadn't been his job.

As it was, he found himself shuffling his papers, polishing his glasses and finally leaving for a good smoke, telling the servant to call him when the film got in.

To _them_ – the foreigners – he said nothing. After all, what could you say after hearing something like that?

* * *

><p>"Shinji?"<p>

"Yes, Miss?"

"We're bringing you back. This one's not like the others. Once you're out, get to the cage-side briefing room _ASAP_."

It only took a second for her to speak over him when he started sounding the unfamiliar word out.

"It's English for 'as soon as possible'. _Okay_, Shinji?"

"Yes, Miss."

As he spoke he felt the carriage come to a complete stop.

He shifted around in the harness, bathed in the soft green glow from the semi-circular wall of television screens. He held one hand out in front of him, clenching and unclenching his fist and noting the way the Eva's hand occasionally, by just a fraction, twitched as if echoing his motions.

He never had asked. But did he really want to know the answer? It couldn't hurt to know. Well, it probably couldn't.

But he wouldn't know unless he asked.

'_So I suppose I won't, huh.'_

He grinned. A wry motion born of a fleeting moment's faint amusement which he'd kind of forced for the sake of a sense of... appropriateness. He let his features relax as he felt the Eva begin to move back the way it had come – from headquarters.

He briefly considered talking to Mana.

_Very_ briefly. He actually caught himself reaching for his radio headset. It was a strong impulse, in these moments of boredom and loneliness - thankfully, fear was no longer part of the immediate mix of his feelings. But he really had no idea what he could say to her that wouldn't make her think he was more of an idiot than she already did.

Apparently, he feared her disdain more than he minded this isolation.

His eyes narrowed and he pinched his nose. No, he didn't fear her disdain. That was... silly.

He recalled her eyes; the redness of them. The way they seemed to pierce right through you.

Well, maybe it wasn't _very_ silly. But he wasn't afraid just to talk to someone! They worked together. It was natural that they would talk, sometime. That's what colleagues did, right? He would talk to her, eventually. No sweat, no fuss. It would happen.

He relaxed his hands and, not quite knowing what to do with them, folded them over his chest and lay back, waiting. Still.

* * *

><p>The city was a very lonely place when viewed from afar. It was a different kind of loneliness to those found within it, surrounded by people who were at once so near and so very far. Not like home where you knew the faces even if you didn't know the names.<p>

The chill breeze, one of the city's perennial north-easterlies, picked up and he hugged himself a little tighter. He tried to avoid looking too startled when Misato spoke, but he was sure he could hear the grin in her voice as she trailed off.

"Just another minute I reckon. Should be time already..."

He resisted the momentary urge to stand closer to the Captain as she stopped surveying the army's positions for a moment, lowering her binoculars to check her wrist-watch. Her _new_ wrist-watch. It was the first thing she told him when she picked him up that afternoon. Which was just last week, actually. She had managed to claim it as part of her personal allowance, as 'an important piece of work-related equipment', all thanks to a friend of hers down in accounts.

It was a very neat little thing; surprisingly good quality, for a Japanese model. It even had a little dial for the date and day of the week. Today it was Saturday the...

He frowned a fraction, thinking.

Misato proceeded to check her pocket-watch, which she still carried around with her out of habit. He leaned over to check it too. She tilted the face of it his way for a moment before tucking it away in her greatcoat. He knew that either way, he could count on the hour to 4 p.m.

"There!"

She lowered the binoculars– he realised off-handedly that he hadn't noticed her raising them in the first place – and pointed to a nearby hillside.

"Right there. It's about two k's so we'll be safe, don't worry." She pulled him against her side and gave him a brief squeeze. She thought about pushing her luck and giving him a proper squeeze, just for the duration of the barrage, but she decided against it at the last second. He was touchy. As in, he was touchy about being touched. It was best not to push it.

At least he wasn't quite so far away now. There'd been a bit too much distance between them before, but it's not like she could just say "Hey Shinji, can you come a bit closer and look at me at least when I'm speaking so I can feel like we've got a close and functional relationship and you're not just tolerating me because you have to?"

… that came out a lot heavier than she'd intended. Erk. Ah, flashes and booms. It was starting!

"There! For real this time. See?"

Shinji squinted at where she was pointing, and after a couple seconds she thought to offer him her binoculars. The strap was pretty short though. After a second's hesitation, he gave her an expression-gauging aside glance which turned into a stare as she gave him a grin and a wink. Quickly he averted his head to look down and away. For a moment they stood still, him looking down and away, his visible ear reddening only slightly as she continued to proffer her binoculars. Then he took ahold of them and leaned into her personal space to look through them…at the wrong place. He tensed up a fraction as she side-stepped right up to him and guided the looking-glasses to the flashes.

"They're firing…"

"Yep." She pointed to the Angel for a moment and then stopped, feeling both foolish and thankful for his not seeing the gesture. "Now watch the Angel closely…"

He frowned into the eye-pieces. "It's…blocking them."

"Yep! And the ones from the other direction?"

"What other… oh!"

"Yep. It's not enough though. The Americans got a few good licks in, but even their cruisers didn't phase it. Our boys've got _no chance_ of scratching it with _that_ kinda weaponry." She paused to sigh and grip the bridge of her nose for a moment "We _told them_, of course, but they're still not listening. These military types just won't take anybody's word for it until they fired off their own guns. Even if those guns are _smaller_, and fewer.

She sighed, and a muffled shrieking sound could be heard emanating from the Angel, which built up to a crescendo.

"But yeah, take a look. You're gonna love this bit." The screech reached a peak, and the hilltop she had pointed out not more than a minute before was bathed in a devastating beam which looked like a wall of solid light.

"_Are they okay?" _

"Yeah, don't worry. They'll be fine."

…_probably._

She crossed her fingers behind her back as the beam played over the hillside.

"But look. Look at the Angel. What do you see?"

"It's…being hit?"

"_Right!_ It can't project its force-field and fire at the same time, or so we hope. That's the assumption we're going to be working on."

A sustained shriek was punctuated by patches of staccato as it lanced out at individuals positions, surgically obliterating positions in neat little lances of light and utter devastation.

"Otherwise, why not just blast its way down? It must be vulnerable when it's firing. With enough firepower, we could kill it. Just hurting it would be enough. For you to have a shot at killing this thing, we need you up close. This Angel is our perfect bane – a weapon too long-ranged for us to target accurately, and defences too strong for us to breach with anything but the most precise weaponry."

She found herself grinning.

"Trust a _spirit_ to be troublesome."

The show over, he lowered the binoculars to look at her.

"Where's the core?"

She raised an eyebrow. It was pretty small, after all, and the binoculars weren't really at the right focus to see…but still. "You should've seen it. It's red, right at - it's right at the center. You can see it when it charges up to fire, which is another thing. All those shapes it makes…" she resisted the urge to shudder. She'd be damned if she'd let him see it freaked her out, even just the tiniest bit. "None of them are very helpful with the whole 'hard-to-hit' thing. None of our shells will be travelling in straight lines, you see. We only have the one gun for that. Only Mana knows how to use it," she added. "We had to base it off an old-school anti-tank rifle."

She met his stare with a smile aimed to reassure. It seemed to do the trick, a little. Mostly, even. Maybe.

"So this one's gonna be the toughest one yet. We'll need the both of you, and _everyone _else to work with us on this one. Even the commies."

She realised she had pulled him in close again at some point. He didn't look particularly comfortable with it. Though he didn't exactly look _un_comfortable…actually no, he kinda did. But he didn't look too _un_happy with it. Perhaps it had been more for her own reassurance than anything else. Well, probably. Maybe it wasn't proper, but it had always made her feel better. Prudes like Ritsuko could go screw themselves.

Or better, someone else. Might help them to loosen up a little. If it didn't double their inhibitions afterwards. Like Ritsuko. She frowned, feeling a bit mean. Talk about having your thoughts take a personal turn. She coughed.

"I'll take you home. Try to rest up while I work things out with the big guys. I'll call you up again when we've got a plan down pat, '_kay_?"

"Yes, Misato."

"Atta boy." She ruffled his hair, savouring his mostly-disapproving expression before breaking off the contact to walk back to the jeep. _Her_ jeep; the transport corps had pretty much given up trying to get it back now, she thought somewhat gleefully.

Glee.

She gritted her teeth and chastised herself as she hit the ignition.

There was no way they – the SDF artillerymen - were 'fine'. They may have been using self-propelled pieces with shelters at the ready… but there's no way anything was surviving blasts like _that_.

She took them back on to the road proper, sparing a last look back at her favourite look-out spot. It looked so tranquil.

And there it stood, still visible through the scrub. Stood? Hah, _Floated_. Waiting. Daring her to come up with something.

She set her eyes on the road before them, gave the wheel a squeeze and her charge a quick once-over. He was fine, that empty little smile of his was nothing to worry about (she hoped). Focusing on the road again she gave the accelerator a little tap, and then another, grinning as she saw his eyes flick between her and the road. He had his seatbelt on, come to think of it.

She allowed herself a final grin and thought back to the octo…eight-sided…cube-Angel. To the Artillerymen.

_'Probably'_ was a lie, too. To herself. She'd read the American Navy's damage report. Well, it wasn't _called_ a 'damage report', but…well. They were recalling the rest of the fleet. Most of it should be here by dawn.

Hopefully, between them and the Army – _armies_, she corrected herself – it would be enough to give her squad - give _Shinji_ - a chance.

* * *

><p>Thanks again, SB.<p> 


End file.
